Christine and the Phantom
by Padme Nijiri
Summary: A talented provincial girl finds herself imprisoned in an enchanted castle with a myserious masked lord. Despite her apprehension, and fear, Christine finds herelf being slowly seduced by Erik's haunting music. Eventual EC COMPLETE
1. Prologue: The Enchantress

Christine and the Phantom by the Phangirls

_Author's Note: Padme introduced me to the Phantom right after the new movie came out, and we've been steadily working our way through nearly every book written on the subject while listening to the musical on repeat. In the middle of rehearsal for our high school's spring musical, _Beauty and the Beast_, we picked up on the parallels between the two stories and vowed to put our story on paper. We hope you'll enjoy our interpretation of perhaps the most enigmatic character in modern mystery fiction._

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Prologue: The Enchantress

Only the hiss of flames in the stone fireplace accompanied the sound of the melodic music drifting softly from the grand piano. A flash of lightning illuminated the chiseled youth of the player's perfect face, causing him to lift his ice-blue eyes toward the window, out into the darkness of the winter's night.

The storm attacked the provincial countryside with unusual viciousness, bending the trees and land to its will. In the distance he could see a small village, barely making out the rising tendrils of smoke from the twenty or so brick chimneys. Erik grunted as he saw someone running on the wooded path from the village. Poor soul. The straggler would find no shelter here, save for a moldy patch of straw next to his thoroughbreds in the stables. A tentative knock at the door of his domain alerted him to a servant calling for his attention.

"Yes?" His musical voice sounded muffled from the other side of the thick oak door. The playing from within ceased.

The woman took a breath and called loudly, but politely, to her master without daring to open the portal. "Sir, there is a woman seeking shelter from the storm. When I told her we could not accommodate her, she asked to see the Lord of the castle."

Erik, faintly annoyed at the stranger's intrusion on his evening entertainment, started his piece again without venturing a reply.

The servant continued over his playing. "I told her that you would not see her, but she insisted. She would give you a rose as payment for your mercy."

A set of discordant notes reached the woman's ears before the oak door was jerked opened before her. "Madame Giry, did I not request that no one was to interrupt me tonight?" The housekeeper stood up bravely under his harsh gaze. "If you cannot do your job properly, than I shall have to do it for you." He pushed violently past the woman.

Erik rushed furiously through the grand hallway, down the twisting flight of marble stairs with Madame Giry quick on his heels. He walked purposefully across the spacious foyer to the large mahogany doors that locked all the world out.

Another servant stood by the door and bowed deeply as Erik approached. "Sir?" His softly accented voice asked Erik for directions.

"Nadir, open the door please."

"As you wish." With that, the Persian man lifted the latch and pulled the heavy door open a crack so that only Erik could be seen between the two ominous planks.

Outside stood the woman, drowning in the billows of her damp and ragged clothes. The cold caused her to bow her face deeply into her chest, so deeply it could not be seen. "Please, kind sir, grant me safe haven from this tempest." At the end of her simple plea, she glanced up at the castle lord. Lightening reflected off her face, revealing wrinkled skin stretched taunt against apple cheeks, a hooked nose complete with a wart, and a scar that ran across one eyebrow past a blue eye towards her ear. The other eye screamed an unnatural green. "I can offer you only this rose in return for your charity." The wind blew some of her straggly mouse brown hair in her face as she held up a single red rose, a bud really, with pouting petals worthy of any virgin's lips.

Erik raised his hand to cover his face. The woman's stench was incredible! Her breath smelled as though she had recently eaten decomposing frogs from the nearby swamp, and her body gave off the odor of sewage. Erik's eyes were drawn to the perfectly formed blood-red rose she held. Tied in a bow around the stem was a pretty satin black ribbon.

"May I see the flower?" He gestured for it with his free hand. The woman obliged him and smiled to reveal three crooked and rotting teeth.

Once he had the rose in one hand, Erik removed his other hand and placed it on the door. Inspecting the rose, his eyes met the woman's mismatched one. "Thank you kindly." And with that, he slammed the door on her.

"Stupid hag." Erik muttered aloud as he began to stalk back up the stairs towards his precious library where the piano waited for him. Madame Giry threw Nadir a look of concern as their master stalked away, but he simply shrugged and reached to bolt the door once again.

Just as Nadir lifted the latch, the doors blew open with such force that both servants and master were sent sprawling to the floor. Erik futilely raised his hand to protect his face from the merciless gust. There in the doorway where once a beggar woman had stood, a beautiful Enchantress now greeted him.

Her youthful body was now swathed in a flowing dress the color of blood, a color much like that of the rose that still lay in Erik's hand. A strong light emanated from her breast, a breast framed by the soft curls of her ice-blonde hair. To Erik, the most shocking transformation was that of her face. The skin had become supple and smooth, the color of peaches, and although one eye remained blue and the other green, both pupils had disappeared, adding to her magical beauty.

Erik could not speak or move, he simply clutched the rose until the thorns dug into his hand, piercing the flesh and drawing blood. The woman did not move her lips, but a heavenly voice descended upon the shocked lord.

"Erik, I came here tonight to test your heart." Behind this unearthly creature, Erik saw the faint rainbow shimmer of gossamer and realized that the woman was suspended by a massive pair of delicate wings. "You're entire life, you've been a spoiled prince! You must learn to see past the shell of the human form, to learn that what you see is no reflection of the truth beneath."

With that, she floated closer to Erik till she could touch him. Lifting her right hand, she gently pressed it against the left side of his face, careful not to touch his lip or eye. The faint smell of scorching flesh filled the air, and when she removed her hand, Erik fell to the floor screaming and holding his face.

"What did you do to me?" He bellowed in pain. His two loyal servants stayed paralyzed with fear.

"Erik, you are young, only twenty. I give you twenty-one years to find true love."

At this Erik glanced up. Madame Giry crawled to him and gently pried his hand away from his face with the tender love and care of a woman who had raised him since childhood. She gasped when she saw him. The Enchantress's touch had blistered the once flawless skin, creating puss-filled boils that popped within seconds, leaving pockets of dead and decayed flesh. Half of his nose had caved in, as if acid had scorched him there, leaving a hole where cartilage and a nostril should have been. The skin twisted and scarred before her eyes. The only things untouched were his eye and lips.

"You are lucky, Erik, that you have such loyal servants. Out of their fidelity, they will bear the burden of a curse alongside you." The Enchantress retreated back toward the open door. "Take care of the rose I gave you, it is no ordinary rose. It will last the remainder of the curse. Take precious care of it. When the last petal falls, the time for you to find true love will cease. If you have not found her, you will remain as you are now, forever." The Enchantress turned towards Nadir, with almost sympathy in her voice she told him of his curse. "If you or any of the other servants step outside this castle, you will turn into one of your master's beloved instruments. As long as you stay withing the castle perimeters, you will stay as you are."

With this last sentence the woman's body exploded with light, blinding the trio and leaving a swirling pile of ashes on the hall floor. Madame Giry was the first to open her eyes. She left her master's side for a moment to inspect the dying pile of embers. Bending down she picked something up from the dust.

Kneeling in front of Erik, she held the object out to him. In her hands, was a white half-mask.

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In one of the twenty chimneyed buildings nearby, a woman's final screams were lost to the howls of the wind.

The midwife took the blue babe and turned her little body over, slapping the child to produce a shrill cry. She wiped bloodied hands on her dirty apron and handed the babe to the solemn man next to the bed. "I will fetch the priest. Try to think of a Christian name while I am gone."

The man nodded and took his little girl. "Christine. I shall call her Christine."

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_(Padme's) Author Note: After about four days of editing and three versions later, we present to you our finished prologue. I am going to start on chapter one tonight. Expect it in a week. _


	2. 1: Twenty Years Later

_Padme's Author Note: This chapter gave us a lot of problems. We had to rewrite a good three-fifths of it before we were happy. I've read it so many times that I'm not sure I can see it straightly now. I still feel like something's missing. Please, don't be scared to tell us it was worse than our prologue. You're comments help us write better. I know Jazzetry and I have been pulling our hair out over it. Other than that, we had fun. Chapter two should go a little quicker, but no promises. _

Chapter One: Twenty Years Later

A thin wisp of smoke curled upwards from the quaint brick chimney, slightly blurring the glow of the bloody harvest moon. Besides the moon, the only other source of light in the forest emanated from the nearby cottage. A passerby could see the glow of the hearth through the windows and hear the strains of a well-played violin striking the notes of a lively folk song.

Inside the cottage, the musician laughed as he watched his daughter dance around their modest home, her loose chocolate curls bouncing as she twirled to the upbeat rhythm of the musical composition. At the sound of the violin's final note, the dancer collapsed gracefully at her father's feet, laughing merrily along with him.

"That was marvelous, Papa!" Stephan Daaé smiled at his daughter's breathless admission.

Stroking her hair, he murmured, "I just hope I can play this well for Lord Tiernay tomorrow."

Christine playfully slapped her father's knee. "Just because you haven't played professionally for a while doesn't mean you've lost your talent. You'll be wonderful!"

Stephan suddenly grew somber. "Christine," he said firmly, "Please sing me something before I retire for the night. I'm afraid it's grown quite late."

Christine, still by her father's feet, began to sing a familiar tune, a sad and wistful melody that lured Stephan to pick up his own instrument. Her voice rose and fell in perfect harmony with the music, filling the room with sweet notes. Stephan played mournfully; Christine had inherited her mother's impeccable soprano voice and azure eyes.

The song faded to an end and Christine, sensing the shift in emotion in the room, spoke gently as she rose from her position on the floor. "You should go to bed now if you want to leave tomorrow morning."

Stephan nodded in silent agreement, offering his cheek for a quick kiss before Christine returned to the kitchen, intent on preparing some final provisions for her father's long journey.

When Christine awoke the following morning, Stephan had already left, leaving no trace other than a few coins on the kitchen table.

)-/-

A sharp jangle from the bells above the door brought the bookkeeper to attention. He adjusted his thin wire rim glasses, smiling when he recognized the familiar figure. Christine softly shut the door before slipping the sky-colored cloak from her shoulders and hanging the material on a nearby hook.

Christine glanced around the small shop with affection. Every table top, shelf, and open space was cluttered with manuscripts, new and old. Christine breathed in the musty air, finding comfort in the contained feeling the tall bookshelves created. They filled the walls as well as the center of the room, effectively forming an aisle of sorts. The left side of the shop housed new volumes, the center those unsold, and the right used books.

"_Bonjour_, Monsieur. I thought you might have some new books in today." Christine shifted the book she had finished the night before in her arms. "I've come to return this one," she said politely, timidly offering him her burden.

"I'm sorry, Mademoiselle Daae. You've read all the new books," The bookkeeper smiled warmly at her. He had watched her go from a little blonde girl who educated herself on the tomes in his store to the breath-stealing brunette beauty in front of him. "But can I offer you anything else?"

Christine carefully scrolled through the shelves for the next two minutes. Selecting a favorite collection of fairytales, Christine walked back to the counter. "I'll take this one." She pushed some of the coins her father gave her towards the bookkeeper.

Smiling warmly, he pushed the money back towards her. "Keep the book. You've read it two times already, you must really like it."

"Thank you," Christine's smile lit up her entire face. "Thank you, Monsieur." She gathered the treasured book in one arm and her blue cloak in the other, carefully pulling it over her shoulders. Ducking her head as she passed out the door, Christine knocked against a young man who was coming in the store with a friend.

"Excuse me," As she slipped out the door, Christine thought he looked like someone she once used to know.

After the door closed behind her, the man turned to the bookkeeper, "Was that Christine Daae?"

)––

Christine, giddy with the fortuitous perseverance of her new wealth, headed towards the crowded _boulangerie_ across the street. The bakery was full with customers, many Christine had known all her life. She took a place in line behind the only person she didn't know, a mute girl who came in from the far countryside every week or so to buy provisions. Christine waited patiently as the young blonde pushed a shopping list across the counter to the baker who cheerfully took her money and filler her order.

Christine placed her order easily, teasing the baker about his flour-streaked face and dutifully answering questions about her father's much-anticipated trip. Just as Christine turned to exit the shop, a group of young women entered the store all at once, effectively blocking the entrance.

To Christine's dismay, she recognized the leader as Carlotta de Altaña, the daughter of the local tavern owner. She was spoiled, shrill, and attention-hungry, a woman who ruined her looks by insisting on wearing a horrible shade of magenta and sticking several feathers in the pile of red hair atop her head.

The violinist's daughter tried to slip out the door unnoticed, but Carlotta's gaze and particular dislike for the girl caught her halfway through her escape. "Look, it's the little toad. _Bonjour, mon petit crapaud_. Run along now and catch some flies." Carlotta's cronies giggled daintily at her joke.

Christine clenched her hands. "I'm not the one who croaks when she sings!" Christine threw out pointedly, referencing an unfortunate incident at a local concert last month. Carlotta blanched at the unexpected attack; the bakery's customers listened in rapt attention to the argument, committing the exact events of the incident to memory so they might entertain other nosy villagers with the story.

The Spaniard recovered rapidly, her face coloring. "I wasn't the one who froze in front of the entire audience and made myself look like a fool."

Christine felt her cheeks burned and ducked her head, remembering her own painful performance. Christine left the shop, not even bothering to wipe away the hot tears streaming from her face as she hurried home.

)-/-

Christine spent the rest of the afternoon curled up in a large armchair reading her book. The sun was setting outside the cottage just as Prince Charming was about to propose to his Princess, a lovely scene that was rudely interrupted by a sharp knock at the door. Sighing, Christine set the book aside. Her father wasn't supposed to be back yet.

The maiden opened the door a crack, "How can I help you, sir?" A man dressed in the latest Parisian fashion stood awkwardly on the cottage porch. A slight breeze ruffled the beautiful wave of his short blonde hair as he nervously shifted his weight to face her.

He licked his dry lips before opening his mouth to speak, "Christine, it's me. Raoul." He flashed her a grin full of strong white teeth that once caused the ladies in Paris to swoon.

A magnificent smile formed on Christine's face. "Raoul! It's so nice to see you again! It's been years!" She stepped aside and opened the door for him to enter. Once he was inside the cottage, Christine hugged him warmly. "Father left to play for a manor lord. He'll be back tomorrow."

Above Christine's head, Raoul's smile faltered a little. He wanted to have her father's blessing before he left for Paris in the morning. He sighed, assuring himself that he'd return within a fortnight. Stepping away from his childhood friend, he studied the girl he had rediscovered in the quaint bookshop. "My God, Lotte! You've grown. Where'd all that blonde hair go?" He lifted his hand and gently brushed her dark brown hair with the palm of his hand.

Christine giggled, "I guess I grew out of it. We haven't talked in such a long time. Come sit, and have some tea." Christine tried to walk towards the stove, but Raoul grabbed her hand and brought her back to him. Christine stared at him with a question in her eyes, he returned it with something indiscernible, as if neither of them had ever really seen the other before in their life. "What's going on, Raoul?"

"You're the most beautiful girl I know, and I want you to be my wife." He took a box out of his pocket and showed her the heavy antique ring. Christine stared at him, speechless with shock, daring to hope that maybe her infatuated childhood dreams would one day come true.

She moved away from him and placed her hand against her head. "I have to think about this, discuss it with my father." She crossed the room to stand by a window, leaning against the frame for support. Christine's knees buckled, but she grasped the windowsill before Raoul could notice.

He walked over to her took her left hand in his again. "You don't have to say 'yes' right away. In fact, I want to discuss it with your father as soon as he returns. Unfortunately, I must return to my family's estate tomorrow to attend to some business there. I'll be back in a couple weeks. Until then, we'll keep this a secret between us. It'll give you time to think." While he spoke, he pushed the solitaire diamond engagement ring onto her finger. "Please, Lotte, think of it. You're all I've dreamed of since I left." With that, he grabbed her arms roughly, causing slight bruising in his haste, and kissed her with all the passion and exuberance of youth.

With that he took his leave of her, but before closing the door, he called out, "Remember, Christine! It's our secret engagement!"

Raoul had kissed her. And he wanted to marry her. Christine suddenly winced in pain. The too-narrow ring had cut off the circulation to her finger, steadily turning it a faint shade of blue. She tugged at the ring, pulling it from her finger and into her hand. She stared dumbly at the pretty piece of jewelry before slipping it on the chain she always wore around her neck. It found a place next to the crucifix by her heart.

She had much to discuss with her father.

)-/-

Stephan glanced at the map that lay in his lap. The fork in the road in front of him was not marked on his old piece of cartography, but he could have sworn he had not come across it on his way to Lord Tiernay's manor. Glancing behind him, he noted that mist now blocked the way he had come.

He patted his horse affectionately, speaking gently to calm her, "Well Belle, what say you? Do you think I should take the path that heads into the dark and scary woods, or the other path that heads into the darker and scarier woods?" The mare whinnied to her master in return. She trusted her human retainer to keep her safe and away from the danger she alone sensed ahead.

The mist was slowly becoming thicker and Stephan knew that nightfall was eminent. Clucking his tongue, he urged Belle towards some distant lights barely visible on the leftmost path. When the horse made a neigh of protest Stephan climbed down from his perch and walked to the front of the holstered mare. He gently took her bridle and attempted to lead the normally complacent horse ahead.

"Come on, Belle. There's light down there. Surely, the person can offer us some brief sanctuary from this accursed mist." The mare wouldn't budge when he tried to lead her down the path. Sweat beaded on her coat and she shook her head and snorted in protest.

The sudden howl of a wolf caused her to rear up, knocking Stephan Daae to the ground. She turned and ran back up the previous past and into the now impenetrable mist. The wagon and the secured items inside rattled away with her.

Gasping to regain the breath he had lost in his tumble, the man lifted a hand after the lone-gone horse. "Wait!" he cried hoarsely. He sat there for several minutes breathing heavily before standing up. Looking down the dark path he could still see lights in the distance. Slowly, he began to walk, praying he would find hospitality down the road.

)–—

Dawn's first rays found Christine asleep in the chair by the fire. She awoke from dreams of a man in shadows to the sound of Belle's alarmed whinnying. Throwing the blanket off of her, Christine rushed outside to greet her father, only to find the wagon.

An inspection of the cart revealed cracked wheels and broken axles. The latch at the back of the battered wagon came undone after a few minutes of persistent tugging, the items inside tumbling to a heap at her feet. On top of the pile was a battered bouquet of red roses.

_Jazzetry Author's Note: I've been absorbed with the story for the past week and a-half. I read _Phantom_, then rehearse my part as a perverted bookshop seller_ _in _Beauty and the Beast_, then come home to plunk out the rest of this story. Sorry this chapter had so much exposition. Chapter two will not only be short and sweet, but introduce the lovers to each other. _


	3. 2: Perilous Flight

_Jazzetry's Author's Note: I'm warning you now that we tried to make Erik a little bit evil, but in that sexy, ultra-desirable way that makes you want to swoon. Hopefully that starts to come across in this chapter..._

Christine and the Phantom

Chapter Two: Perilous Flight

"Come on, girl, just a little farther," Christine urged the perspiring mare down the narrow forest path, desperation tainting her voice. The pair had been traveling since sunrise, frantically searching for any sign of Stephan on the road to Lord Tiernay's manor. With the recent nightfall, Christine's distress had steadily escalated.

Belle suddenly snorted and reared where the road broke, dancing away from the shadowy trail. The rider was thrown violently by the unexpected movement, and crashed to the ground.

Righting herself, Christine winced and brushed her skirts off before gathering her cloak tightly around her; the night was unforgivably cold. The chill only accentuated her sinking feeling of incredible foolishness. She had rashly acted that morning, rushing to save her father without thought for her own safety. She had followed the wagon tracks until the light gave out. Now it was dark and Christine was alone in an isolated forest without provisions, without protection, and without any sign of her father's whereabouts.

Christine checked Belle over, noting that the horse would not willingly carry her weight for some time. She glanced around her surroundings, looking for a direction to follow.

The only hope the maid could find was a soft light down the side path. From her vantage, she thought she could see the outline of a building. Perhaps she could find shelter there or at least some news of her father.

)–/–

The duo labored on for half-a-mile down the road. The forest eventually faded, meeting the stone wall of an estate. Christine loosely tied Belle to a branch. Walking a few meters, she came upon a small wooden door. Trying the handle, Christine struggled with the postern before it slowly creaked open.

The brown-haired girl came upon a beautiful orchard. Beyond the orchard a foreboding stone castle rose impressively from the earth. The wind whistled around two tall towers and banged against a long set of windows on the extensive veranda. Christine had reached the back entrance of the strange chateau. The impressive abode appeared deserted, save for the light of a single candle emanating from a narrow window on the top floor.

A single clear note brought Christine to attention. The music wailed in the night, striking a beat of longing within her. It called to her, compelling her to follow the sad tune towards its origin, the castle. She knelt at one of the towers, pressing her ear against the singing stone, searching for the source of the sweet, twisting sound.

Her hands unintentionally pressed upon a false brick. A mechanism clicked into place and moved a portion of the wall, clearing a small entrance in the stone facade. In the shadow of the opening, she saw the spiral of a hidden staircase.

Christine followed the music blindly into the passage way. Something greater than herself was up those stairs, something haunting, thrilling in its raw and exposed nature. The music drowned out the sound of her footsteps and lured her to its source.

As the music grew in intensity, Christine shuddered, pressing her hands against the wall in an effort to steady herself. How she wished to put words to such a melody! She wanted to sing like she had never sung before.

"Help!"

Her father's ragged cry brought Christine to reality. She rushed back down the stairs, escaping the powerful music and throwing herself into the depths of an underground prison.

"Papa!" She rounded a curve and came face to face with her father, now covered with dirt and chained to a wall. They embraced each other generously, Christine not caring that his chains dug into her sides or that the trickle of blood on his forehead steadily stained the hood of her cloak.

"What's happened?" Christine asked breathlessly, running her hands over her father's face in the blinding darkness.

"You must leave, quickly, Christine. A terrible monster lives here, his face . . ." A cough broke free from his lungs; the previous night's air had taken its toll upon the older man. Stephan shuddered, tears glistening in his eyes.

"I can't leave you…" The music stopped. Stephan looked up the stairs in fear.

"Please, Christine, go! Go now!"

The somber echo of a stranger's steps resounded in the narrow tower. The light of a candle illuminated a long silhouette of a figure snaking its way towards father and daughter.

"I'm staying here with you, Papa! You're sick!"

A voice tingling with musicality cut clear through the dank air. "Monsieur, I see we have a guest, what an unparallel delight."

Christine bravely turned to face the figure. Surely, such a voice could not belong to the monster who had chained up her harmless father. A soft cry of surprise caught in her throat as the candlelight revealed the man who hid in the shadows of her dreams.

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_Padme's Author Note: I know we're late with the chapter. I also know it's the shortest one so far. The past week has been very hectic for both Jazzetry and I. The third chapter will probably also take a week, if not a little longer. I will start writing that tomorrow. Jazzetry wrote this chap, so it may seem a little different than the previous two, but I doubt it. We think on a parallel lines. Chapter three should have about three scenes, I think. We're still debating content. Also, in response to one reviewer's query about the age, there's nothing wrong with a twenty-year gap. It happened all the time back then, and still does. My parents are a prime example. Hope you enjoyed the chapter! _


	4. 3: The Internment

_Padme's Author Note: We have not read the other Beauty and the Beast story out there, _Le Fantome et La Belle_. Nor do I intend to. That way each story can stay it's own unique story._ _We love reviews too!_

Christine and the Phantom

Chapter Three: Internment

Somehow the candlelight only revealed the right portion of the man's face. It was almost as if he was scared to fully confront the father-daughter pair. A black cloak clung to his broad shoulders, hiding the rest of his tall body in an impenetrable shadow. The hand holding the candle was encased in a black glove as well.

Christine instinctively flinched away from the demon only a few feet away, swallowing nervously. She move to stand in front of her father in an effort to protect him from the man before them.

The man chuckled, setting the candle on a ledge by the door. "He was trespassing. So are you."

Christine stifled her protest. Most other lords would have imprisoned her father as well. Nevertheless, she ventured on, "Can't you see he's ill?" She stepped towards the man slowly, hoping to appeal to some hidden goodness in this creature. He only moved deeper into the shadows, eventually disappearing entirely.

"There's nothing you can do now. What were you thinking?" His whisper caressed the back of her neck, causing Christine to shiver. "That you'd trade places with him?" He was taunting her now, his voice traveling from one ear to the other. For an insane moment, she swore that there was not one, but many men surrounding her, prepared to attack.

She turned around, desperate to face the man, but he moved too quickly for her to follow. All Christine could think of was the truth. "I would do anything for him."

Stephan interrupted them. "I can't let you do this; I'm old! I've lived my life!"

His daughter ignored the shout and straightened her shoulders stiffly. "Yes. I will take his place."

The lord said nothing, merely stepped into the light so she could see the strange mask covering one side of his face. Christine was taken aback, but swallowed any physical allusion to that fact. He noted her lack of reaction and at once his whole demeanor seemed to change. Something unreadable flashed across his eyes.

The violinist sagged in his chains. Didn't his daughter realize what lay under the mask? Or was it impossible for her to guess what he had regrettably seen that night?

Erik deftly unlocked Stephan from the steel grip of his chains, brusquely dragging the man up the tower stairs and towards the small portal Christine had fell through earlier.

She cried out, "Sir! Be kind, I beg you!"

Erik nearly dropped Stephan, startled by Christine's outburst. Angered at his own fumbling, he released the old man and strode back to Christine, catching her wrists in his grasp. Dragging her close to his face, he hissed, "I'm letting him go, be glad of that!" Christine blinked at his masked visage. When he released her hands, she sank dazed to the floor. Her expression fixed on a cracked stone. Erik once again took hold of Stephan and pulled him out of the tower.

Christine did not move. Her captor's eyes had told her everything. Barely hidden, the gleam of anticipation was unmistakable.

)–/–

Christine jerked at the sound of a person on the stairs. The curved stones mocked her, giving no indication of whether torture or salvation lay at the source of those footsteps. She chided herself for her wishful thinking, forcing her mind to submit to the fact that that man had returned to chain her up as well.

But instead of the hideously swirling cloak of her captor, Christine saw the slight bounce of yellow skirts. The tidy blonde was young and cheerful, a pleasing but abrupt shift from the previous mood of the prisoner's surroundings. Christine belatedly recognized her as the solemn mute she had seen in the bakery only the day before. The girl smiled broadly, holding a large lantern that brightly lit the dim dungeon.

"Hello, Miss! My name's Meg," She bubbled cheerfully, displaying a neat set of teeth. Not only could the girl speak, but she almost seemed, well, happy that Christine was confined here. She lithely bent to help Christine from the floor. "Miss, if you would follow me please, the master does not wish you to catch your death here."

"No, but he couldn't help but let my father do that, could he?" The embittered comment seemed to cause the girl pain, and Christine felt faintly ashamed that her frustration had hurt the one person who had shown her kindness all day.

"Forgive me, please," She implored the servant. "Call me Christine."

"You must be tired, Christine. I must show you to your room and then you can rest." Meg began to lead them from the dirty cellar, but Christine yelped at her first stiff step. The muscles in her left leg were screaming in pain, as if lit on fire.

Meg instantly rushed to her side to examine her leg. Christine herself drew back several layers of blood-stained fabric to reveal an angry wound running at a slight angle from her ankle bone mid way up her calf. Briefly, Christine recalled her fall from Belle and the slight pain she had felt then. She hadn't even noticed it was bleeding until now.

"I must have gotten this when I fell from–My horse! Meg, please, you must get her before the wolves do! She's outside the castle walls." Christine clutched at the girl, startling her.

"Christine, please! Your leg is more serious than a horse, and besides, if she's a chestnut-colored mare, the master has already brought her in." The servant girl companionably patted Christine's hands as if they had been friends for ages. "We need to get you to your room and have the master look at that cut."

Christine blinked, "Why would he look at my cut?"

Meg chuckled, "He's very skilled; he tends to anyone or anything ill on the grounds."

"Why didn't he care for my father then?" Her fist clenched with now too-familiar anger.

Meg moved behind Christine before answering. "Truly, I do not know his reason. Maybe he did." She slid her arms around the other young woman's waist and helped her limp out of the dank vault.

The pair traveled up the stairs and down a narrow hall that Christine duly noted as some sort of hidden passageway. Meg sighed at the end of the corridor, pulling a narrow strip of black cloth from the pocket of her skirt. "I'm sorry, but the master has given me instructions to blindfold you. You must understand, very few people know of this hall and he would prefer you not know how to return to it." Christine only nodded, her leg throbbing from the seemingly endless trek up the stairs.

Meg tied the cloth securely around Christine's head, completely obscuring her vision. Christine felt Meg leave her for a brief second as she somehow opened a door that let out a slight gust of air. The servant returned to Christine's side and led her through the door and out into a larger, more airy arena. The captive had no idea where she was, guessing by the feel of the floor beneath her that they were in some marble hall.

"You can see the castle in the morning. It was built in 1478 for the third Baron Maigny in the gothic style and has passed hands many times over the years. The current master has of course made many improvements…" The girl chatted quite comfortably about the castle's history for the ten minutes it took them to walk to Christine's bedchamber.

At the door, Meg removed the blindfold and rushed Christine inside. "This is your room, Christine. He calls it the Louis Phillip room after the large chest of drawers that decorate it." Meg quickly lit a few lamps around the room and Christine stared in wonder at the opulence surrounding her.

"So I am to be his guest rather than his prisoner?" Christine asked with a mix of sarcasm and amazement.

The grand Louis Phillip chests Meg mentioned stood on the sides of the room, surrounded by a large four-poster bed, plush armchairs, a Persian silk screen, a feminine writing desk, and any invention a lady might find useful. However, the drawing point of the room was the large wall of French doors directly opposite the door that led out to a sweeping balcony overlooking the estate.

Christine might have explored the room more extensively, but the pain in her leg was shooting once more, nearly bringing her to her knees. Meg quickly helped Christine to the bed and retrieved a nightgown from one of the chests. She assisted with the removal of Christine's ruined cloak and gown, replacing them with the cool silk of the peach negligee.

"How is it that you have clothing that fits me perfectly?" Christine asked once the gown was settled over her shoulders.

The servant smiled. "There's a charm on all the pieces of furniture in the house to fit the inhabitant's size and taste. You won't find anything that will displease you while you're here." Meg straightened from her task abruptly, remembering her initial goal. "I must find the master before infection sets. Please stay here while I search for him."

Christine lay back in the bed and shut her eyes against the growing ache. She could hear Meg turn the key in the lock.

)–/–

Erik lifted the saddle from the mare's back, stroking her and leaving her warm and calm in one of the stalls in his stables. Nearby the sable stallion snorted for attention and Erik affectionately responded, feeding Beast an apple from a nearby pail.

Meg Giry entered the stable just as Erik was hanging up Belle's saddle. She glowed with excitement, bobbing up and down in a quick curtsy before addressing her master. "Sir, I've put the girl is in the east wing, just as you instructed."

"Good." He doused his lantern and left the stable with Meg trailing behind him. She held her light dearly, but Erik found his way easily across the lawn in the night.

"She seems to be badly hurt, she says she fell from her horse earlier."

Erik stiffened slightly. "I'll look in on her. Go back to bed, Meg. You will tend to our guest's needs from now on, so be sure to bring her breakfast in the morning. That's all."

He walked on through the orchard, but paused when Meg called gently to him, "Please be kind to her sir. She may be the one…" Erik spun angrily to face her, gesturing wildly at his mask.

"Do you think I want to stay like this forever? From the moment I met her, that's the only thing I've thought of. Don't remind me."

Meg continued on unfazed. "Her name's Christine, sir." When he said nothing, Meg just turned and walked back to the small house by the stables where the servants lived.

Erik shook his head and strode quickly towards the castle. Hopefully the chit wasn't too badly hurt or else he had just lost his chance at redemption.

)–/–

_Please Review! We love comments_.

_Padme's second note: Done! And on-time too! Chapter four is almost completely done, I have one more scene to write and then all the editions. Jazzetry is writing five, and I'm back up for six. Our spring break is coming up soon, so everything should go lightning quick during that time. The end of that week is also our goal of finishing this thing, so keep watch for us! _


	5. 4: Awakenings

_Padme's Author Note: Jazzetry and I noticed the other day that we have not posted a disclaimer in any of the previous chapters. So here it is: We don't own the POTO characters, or the majority of the plot. We try to stick to characterizations and story details from Leroux, Kay, ALW, Coctoe (Sorry If I misspelled that), and Disney's _Beauty and the Beast

_I also want to thank all the reviews we've received. You make our writings so much more enjoyable. And here is chapter four!_

* * *

Christine and the Phantom

Chapter 4: Awakenings

The corner of Erik's mouth twitched when he recognized the figure solemnly guarding the door of the Louis Phillip suite. The Persian sat formidably on a hard-backed chair outside the guestroom, eyeing his master's progress down the corridor with a knowing glance. Nadir stood up stiffly, meeting Erik's eyes gravely saying, "Good evening, Erik."

Erik nodded in response. Nadir's presence struck him as slightly odd, but he accepted it without question. The man had a strange habit of popping up at the most unexpected of moments. "Perhaps you could fetch some clean towels and hot water, Nadir, while I examine the girl's injury. Your daughter must have told you the whole story."

"Perhaps," Nadir said quietly, "We should go together and get them."

Erik cocked his head to one side, his visible eyebrow raising in a silent question.

Nadir continued on delicately, in that same quiet but potent voice. "Tomorrow Antoinette will move into the castle."

Erik's eyes glinted when he understood the man's meaning. "Ah, this is about propriety then. I think it's a little late for that." Erik tore his dew-dampened cloak from his shoulders and tossed the garment authoritatively to the waiting Persian. "Go fetch the water, old man."

The Persian paused nobly, weighing the consequences of his actions.

Erik exploded, "Who do you think I am? Remember, _I_ am master of this castle." Erik caught himself, calming the inexplicable rage and willing himself to be reasonable. "I know the curse's limits as well as you. She must love me of her own accord – I would do nothing to endanger my last chance." Erik paused, trying to extract some sentiment from the stone wall of his servant's expression. He sighed, "Get the hot water and towels. I will wait here in the hall for you."

Nadir seemed to find some satisfaction in that promise, and hurried towards the kitchen. Erik shook his head and promptly entered Christine's room anyway. The Persian was a fool.

A pure beam of moonlight caught on the silk of the sleeping maid's nightgown. She had kicked the bedding to the floor sometime during her fevered sleep, and she now lay shivering on the soft expanse of the mattress. Erik felt a rush of alarm as he took note of the way the slight sheen of perspiration had caused the peach nightgown to cling exquisitely to her body.

Damning himself, Erik approached Christine quietly, vowing to see her only as a patient and not as the most beautiful woman he had seen in over twenty years. He delicately pulled back the edge of her gown to her knees, examining each leg carefully. Already, her injured leg had begun to swell and Erik realized the seriousness of their position. If she died from this infection, his hope died with her.

"Sir, are you going to wake her?" Nadir stood in the doorway with a pot of boiling water and some clean towels draped over one arm. He calmly stifled any anxiety he felt upon seeing his unpredictable and isolated master leaning over the delicate form of the sleeping girl. He did not reproach his master's conduct, merely accepted it as did all disappointments.

Erik shook his head. "Not if it can be helped." It would be better for her to sleep through his treatment. Erik wanted to spare the girl as much pain as possible. Nadir approached the bed with the supplies as Erik lit enough candles in the room for him to see clearly.

Reaching into the small carrying case he had retrieved from his room before he left, he pulled out a handkerchief, small vial, a bowl, and several jars of fresh leaves. "Nadir, grind the plants while I sedate her." Erik washed his hands with the boiling water before dabbing some of the liquid onto the cloth and holding it over Christine's nose until her body fell completely limp. Whatever dreams or nightmares that tormented her had come to an end. She would sleep till morning, hopefully.

Straightening the girl out, he propped the leg up on several pillows before rotating it so he could see the cut clearly. A broken branch had cut the leg, leaving behind bits of wood and dirt. The thin film of a scab had just started to form over the wound. He could see a rather large sliver of wood in the upper portion of the wound. Except for where that one sliver had embedded itself, the wound was not too deep.

"Nadir, turn up the lantern, please." Dipping a towel in the warm water, he gently sponged the area around the wound before moving to the wound itself. When he was satisfied that he had cleaned as much as possible with just the towel, he withdrew a pair of tweezers. Sliver by sliver, he picked out the fragments. Gently pulling on the largest one, he discovered it would not budge unless he ripped some of Christine's flesh. The girl whimpered in her drug-induced sleep.

Nadir looked up from grinding at his master; "I'm almost done with the poultice."

"Good. You need to hold her leg steady for a moment." Erik took a small knife from his satchel and held it over the lantern's flame, sterilizing it.

Nadir wiped his hands on a spare towel before doing as he was told. At first cut, Christine cried out in her sleep; her body jerked instinctively, but Nadir's hold kept the leg still. Erik wiped away the fresh blood that flowed and tested the splinter. He had a feeling the piece had split laterally when it entered her leg, creating a sort of barb that would be difficult to remove. He repeated the process until the wood came free. He sponged the area with a clean towel, removing the last of the dirt and whatever small slivers that had evaded the tweezers. It was not as deep as he had initially thought, but the girl would have to stay off of leg for at least two days.

"I need that poultice now"

"Yes, sir." Nadir handed him the paste emotionlessly.

Erik applied the poultice to the wound and wrapped it with strips of cloth. As he finished, the first rays of the sun started to peak through the drawn curtains. He wiped sweat from the unmasked side of his face and his jaw on the other. He knew he had done all he could for Christine; now it was up to her young body.

He felt Christine's forehead, noting the slight fever she had and the dried sweat. Unconsciously, he allowed his eyes to trace the outline of her lashes on her cheeks, her pert nose and full lips. He noted the pallor of skin, and hoped that by the end of the day it would regain the natural blush he had first seen only a few hours ago. Erik placed his fingers against the side of Christine's neck, feeling for a pulse. His professionalism slipped after he certified that her heartbeat was still strong and healthy; the touch that was meant to be cool and impersonal had turned into the slightest whisper of a caress.

"Sir…" Nadir's warning gently reminded Erik that his hand had overstayed its purpose. Erik drew back quickly, then stretched thoroughly.

"Put my case away, Nadir. Madame Giry may stay in the room overlooking the rose garden." Without another word, Erik rushed out of the confining space, away from the helpless virgin lying pliant in his guest bed.

Nadir's deep chortle followed him down the hall.

)–/–

Stephan held his arm and grunted in pain as the enchanted carriage jostled to a sharp stop outside his cottage. The numbing pain, his daughter's fate, what lay behind that man's mask…Stephan was consumed.

The musician still could not determine if his captor had been a phantom, devil, or man. Whatever he was, he now had Christine within his grasp. Stephan rattled the locked door of the horseless carriage in frustration. Why had he insisted on entering the castle blindly, like a fool that night?

Stephan shuddered at the memory. He had pounded on the castle's door for ten minutes before he thought to try the handle. It had swung open easily and he had entered the grand marble foyer, looking for any sign of the inhabitants. A seductive melody wafted down the grand, circular staircase, calling to the seasoned musician. No one would have heard his pounding with that music.

That sound! Even as Stephan cursed that phantom for imprisoning his daughter, he shivered in delight at the memory of the music. It was a style entirely new, incredibly complex and emotionally raw.

Stephan had followed the sound, up the stairs and down a wide hall mysteriously shrouded in black velvet curtains. But when he had opened the door of the room at the end of the hall, the player sensed his presence and spun around to face the intruder. He was vulnerable, his face unmasked, displaying the horror that Stephan would remember all his life.

The player had grabbed a heavy candlestick from a mantle and rushed at the old man, beating him unconscious in a fury of limbs, fear, and hate. He must have dragged him to the dungeon and imprisoned him while Stephan was insentient, for the poor villager had awoken to the dankness of the cell and the weight of his shackles.

The carriage door swung open suddenly, jolting Stephan into reality. He leapt out eagerly, and the carriage, by its own volition, started to roll away, back toward the haunted Castle Nuit.

Pink wisps of clouds lay their finger-like tendrils across a lightening topaz sky, announcing the coming of the most terrifying day of Stephan's life. His daughter was enslaved by a mad phantom with, Stephan assumed, some skills of magic on his side. Stephan quickly found his resolve and limped off quickly towards the village, towards light, good people, and hope.

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_Hope you enjoyed! Don't forget to review, please. _


	6. 5: At Second Glance

_Jazzetry's Author Note: This is my baby, one of the few chapters I started. It was a grueling process, especially when we decided to cut the ten page chapter into two shorter versions. Hopefully you'll enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. And a quick source clarification: Cocteau's film _Beauty and the Beast_ was based after the original Madame Beaumont story, so hopefully we're not completely Disneyfied. _

* * *

Christine and the Phantom

Chapter 5: At Second Glance

Madame Giry hesitated before the ornate gilt door to the Louis Phillip room. It had been two days since Christine's arrival and the girl had not once left her room, citing her injured leg as the cause of her self-imposed seclusion. Of course, all the inhabitants of Castle Nuit knew that the chit's contempt for the master was the real reason she so skillfully avoided any possible contact with him. But Madame Giry, for one, had had enough; she would be damned if she let this willful girl destroy her hopes of freedom. The housekeeper balanced her tray in one hand as she pushed open the door to Christine's room.

The chamber was encased in shadow, even though the day had progressed well into the morning. Without a look to the large bed where Christine lay buried beneath the covers, Madame Giry crossed the darkened room to set down the heavy tray of rolls on a small breakfast table. The sweeping velvet curtains were pulled back and tied to the curling gold hooks on either side of the large window, revealing sunlight so intense that Christine groaned and turned on her side so as to escape its glare. She was so tired! Couldn't this woman leave her alone to grieve for her father? Christine pulled the thick comforter over her head in an attempt to block out the irksome rays and return to her rest.

Madame Giry sighed and walked over to the girl, dragging the covers away. She stood sternly, lecturing the child with both hands firmly planted on her hips, "Really, Christine, this can't be healthy. Look, I've brought you some breakfast and I've called for Meg. When you've finished eating, you will go with Meg on a tour of the estate. The master says that if you don't get out of that bed today, your muscles will atrophy. Besides you must be restless."

Christine cried out miserably, "That _monster_ can rot in hell!" She tried to burrow under the covers again to no avail.

Madame Giry grimaced, "The _monster_, as you call my lord, has treated your leg and offered you all the luxuries this castle can afford. Really Christine, you're nearly twenty and here you are acting like you're eight" She really could not understand Erik's plan of action, if he had any, that is. He too refused to step out of his quarters unless he was sure the girl was asleep in her bed. The pair was insufferable.

The impetuous girl bit her lip, cursing herself for insulting the woman who had shown her such kindness these past few days. She apologized immediately, "I am sorry, Madame, truly. I'll be ready within the hour. Please, eat with me."

The woman acquiesced and sat down at the round breakfast table. Gingerly testing her weight on the injured appendage, Christine rose and pulled on a thin satin robe. In a feeble attempt at small talk, Christine commented on the breakfast as she delicately smeared a dollop of butter over a roll.

"The rolls are excellent; they feel like you just pulled them from the fire, Madame Giry. It's really amazing. How do you do it?"

Madame Giry paused pensively. When she spoke, it was in an emotionless and business-like tone. "This house is enchanted. I've been able to master some of that magic. I can't do anything drastic, but I can conjure up a couple charms." Christine laughed gleefully. Surely the woman was crazy! Madame Giry looked at the girl sternly, causing an abrupt end to the laughter, "The rolls? The clothing? Have you absolutely no awareness of the world around you?"

Christine stammered, "Meg said something about my clothing that first night, but I thought she was merely talking nonsense…"

"The curse is the core of Castle Nuit. We will stay enslaved like this forever unless" The women suddenly broke off. She was an idiot if she even thought of revealing the key to undoing the curse. Christine's love must grow gradually, untainted by any pity for those imprisoned by it.

"What?" Christine spoke fearfully, her voice a choked whisper. In the back of her mind she had known there was no logical explanation for some of what she'd seen the past two days. Maybe that would explain the enchanting music that she had heard the first night.

"Nothing, dear. Just remember that things are never what they seem in this place. I'll go see if Meg has arrived yet from the servant's quarters."

Madame Giry rose regally, taking the tray with her and praying that Christine's decision to finally leave her room would somehow land her in Erik's arms. Hopefully, Nadir's efforts to rouse the master had been successful as well.

)–/–

"Damn it, you fool! I know what I need to do. Do you honestly think I want to stay like this forever?" Erik gestured wildly at his face. For once he was unmasked in front of Nadir. What was wrong with everyone lately?

Nadir continued calmly, gently putting away the decanter of whiskey that had been Erik's sole nourishment for the past few days. "Erik, Fate will walk away unless you're there to change her course."

Erik scoffed and flopped face-down onto his bed. "Really, Nadir," he droned, "Where do you get all those impossible proverbs?"

The Persian ignored his master and attempted to reason with him. "Christine needs to fall in love with you. How can she if you won't even talk to her?"

Erik stumbled out of his bed and over to a basin of water. He felt like a child had taken a bass drum and beat it next to his head for over half the night. He shuddered as he splashed the cold liquid on his face. "What happened to the hot water?" He cried imperiously.

"Ah, Antoinette thought that perhaps cold water would refresh you more quickly." Nadir efficiently locked the liquor cabinet and pocketed the key.

Erik groaned. "What am I to do? It's no use. She's so beautiful and I'm…well, look at me!" He turned pointedly to face Nadir. He hadn't looked in a mirror for years, but the revulsion in Nadir's expression was just as horrible as staring at his own reflection.

Nadir replied humorlessly, "You have a point." Despite Erik's caustic glance as he swiftly replaced his mask, the Persian continued, "Use what you have: your wit, your charm, your music."

Erik sighed despondently, "I haven't written anything since she's come. My entire inspiration has fled." He hit the table with his fist. "Dammit, Nadir! This is unbearable!"

Nadir held out Erik's newly pressed clothing. "My daughter will be showing Christine around the castle today. At five, Meg will excuse herself momentarily to assist her mother with some minor preparations for dinner, leaving Christine alone in the rose garden. Approach her there and try to civilly ask her to join you for dinner in the formal dining room tonight."

"When did you plan this bit of treachery?"

Nadir shrugged, "Family collaboration. We're hell-bent on ridding ourselves of the curse."

Erik supposed he should feel insulted that his servants thought he needed help to woo Christine, but Nadir was right. The curse had to be broken and soon; he did not have a lot of time until it ran out. Erik spoke gently, "It's bound to be a fiasco, but I'll do it."

"Good," Nadir motioned to leave the room, only to turn around belatedly. "Five o'clock then, in the rose garden." Nadir gathered the empty glasses near Erik's bed and left his master alone. The basin of cold water hit the closing door, punctuated only by the master's loud curse.

)–/–

"Come on Christine! You'll love this!" Meg laughed merrily as she ran down a slight hill on the eastern side of the estate. Christine followed more slowly, leaning on an enchanted stick-turned-cane courtesy of Madame Giry. Meg turned back at the bottom of the hill and, upon seeing her companion's agonizingly slow pace, plopped down on the sweet grass and began aimlessly braiding a chain of dandelions.

The day had been glorious. The two girls clung to each other eagerly, becoming fast friends in a place where they were the only youth. Christine was slowly acclimating to the magic of this castle: certain doors that swung open by themselves, wall fixtures that reached to take your hat or coat – they all seemed vaguely acceptable now.

Meg had given Christine a thorough tour of Castle Nuit's elegant halls, including a trip into the large chapel on the second floor and the various parlors and game rooms on the ground floor. The library and ballroom were stunning, high-domed rooms Christine wished she could have seen more of, but Meg bored easily, especially since she had grown up around the opulence and beauty. When Christine had ventured to ask about the hidden staircase she had stumbled upon that first night, Meg giggled and rattled of a scandalous history of the master's father, a rogue who had constructed several secret passages so he might visit his various mistresses. At that Christine had grown cold and asked if any of the passages led to her room. Meg assured her that if there were any, the master was decent enough to respect her privacy. Christine did not express her doubts on that matter of opinion.

Once outside the castle, the pair reveled in the sunshine, wandering around the orchards and enjoying a small luncheon in the servant's quarters, a quaint cottage where the only three remaining servants lived. After that, Meg led Christine to the stables so she could assure herself that Belle was alright. The horse neighed happily when she saw her mistress, and whinnied even more when Christine fed her a fresh carrot. The black steed in the stall near Belle's frightened Christine a bit especially when he snapped at Meg, but she thought it only fair to feed him a carrot as well. He accepted the treat willingly, even submitting his proud neck to the strokes of Christine's fingertips.

Everything Christine saw and did surprised her. This place of sunshine and beauty differed so greatly from the dungeon she had first fell into. Her wound burned mildly under the layers of her petticoats and skirt, but to be outdoors once more was an unmatched pleasure that invigorated her.

Christine finally reached the bottom of the hill and Meg placed the dandelion crown on her new-found friend's head. "Come on, then, Queen Christine!" She grabbed her friend's hand and dragged her through a small copse and out into the splendor of a thriving garden.

Christine gasped in surprise. "This was outside my room that whole time?"

Meg rolled her eyes, "Yes, but you were to busy moaning. Here, what's your favorite color? Yellow, pink, white?"

Christine giggled, "Well, red I guess ."

"Ah, a traditionalist!" Meg plucked a full blooming red rose and, tossing the dandelion crown to the ground, stuck the stunning bud behind Christine's ear. She coaxed a curl out Christine's plaited hair to hang regally down the side of her face. Her tone ever pleasant, Meg asked, innocently enough, "What's your hair look like down?"

Christine gave Meg a quizzical look, laughter tainting her voice. "Why?"

"Please, Christine. I haven't spoken to anyone my age ever. Amuse me?"

Christine grinned and began to unbraid her chestnut hair from its tight confines. A thought suddenly came to her, "Why didn't you speak to anyone in the village?"

Meg scrunched her nose slightly in surprise. "I didn't speak because I couldn't."

"That doesn't make any sense. Did your _master_ forbid you to?" The last sentence held a disrespect that Meg balked at.

"Christine, please. Don't judge Lord Erik after you've only met him once. There's more to him than what he appears."

Christine laughed merrily and shook out the remainder of her hair, letting the waves fall softly around her shoulders and down her spine. "Lord Erik?" She raised her eyebrow at Meg's blush. "You didn't answer my question." She capriciously added, "Does it have to do with the curse?"

Meg blanched. She'd known Christine was smart, but she hadn't expected her to know about it yet. "I don't know if I'm supposed to tell you about that. But since you asked, yes." She sighed and stared at her hands. "I was born after the curse, so I can leave the grounds, but I turn mute. It's a lot better than what happens to the other's though. I'm the only person on the grounds who's able to leave. Well, I guess the master can leave if he wants."

"So why doesn't he?" Christine tightened the cream shawl she had around her body. The sun had started its descent and a slight breeze began to stir the flowers around the girls.

"Because of his - " Meg quickly stopped when she saw a shadow creep out from behind a corner of the castle. She prayed he hadn't heard their conversation. Theatrically, Meg glanced at a nearby sundial and gasped, "Oh my! Mother asked me to help her with dinner. I really must go. Please, Christine, forgive me. Stay out here a while, I'll be back in ten minutes. Aren't you warm?"

The girl's babbling caught Christine off guard and she repeated dumbly, "Warm?" She had changed subjects so quickly, it blew her mind.

"Yes, let me take that thick shawl!"

"Well, alright." Christine offered Meg the shawl as the girl silently took in her appearance. A green wool gown graced her figure perfectly. The neckline swooped to a modest point, but revealed enough to show a hint of the swell of her breasts. Christine chuckled, "What? Don't I look alright? It's not like I'm trying to impress anyone."

Meg grinned and straightened the lace peeking out of Christine's sleeves, "No, no! You look lovely. I'll be back soon." With that, Meg ran off, entering the house through a set of French doors that led into the grand ballroom.

Meg could be odd, but she had been so terribly isolated for a girl her age that her behavior was almost forgivable. Christine sighed, hoping that when she escaped this place, as she knew she must, she could still meet with the girl occasionally in the village.

Christine wandered contentedly around the prolific rose garden, marveling at the flower's artful arrangement and outstanding health. She hummed quietly to herself, eventually graduating into a simple lullaby that reminded her of home. Kneeling carefully so as not to aggravate the wound, she settled her skirts around her.

Behind the corner of the building, Erik shuddered. That voice! He had never heard anything like it before. So clear, so untouched by any of the outrageous attempts at vocal originality most singers tried. The voice rocked him in a sacred ecstasy that nearly brought him to his knees. Instantly, he knew that he had to hear her sing his work…not Don Juan, of course, but something else, something not too painful that he had written long ago…

Moving from his hiding spot, he saw the girl shiver in the breeze. Taking the velvet cloak from his own form, he soundlessly came up behind her and dropped it over hers. His gloved fingers grazed her shoulders in the process. Christine gasped in surprise before turning to thank him. Erik's tall figure momentarily blocked out the sun as he moved to look her in the eye.

He spoke before she had a chance to thank him. "Where did you learn to sing like that?"

"What?" The girl gasped, frightened both of his queer mask and the desperation in his voice.

"Never mind! It doesn't matter!" He grabbed her hand and pulled her up, forcing her to follow him.

"Stop, please!" Christine yelled as loudly as she could manage, hoping that the monster could be stopped before he caused her to re-injure the wound he had healed. "You're hurting me! My leg!"

Erik composed himself, lessening his iron grip on Christine's hand. "I am a musician and it has been decades since anyone has sung my music. I am here begging," Erik brought her closer to him then. "Begging you to please sing for me."

Christine was suspicious, but if he spoke in earnest then she finally had some bargaining power. "Will you let me free if I sing for you?"

"I can't do that." Erik replied flatly.

"Well, I refuse." Christine turned to leave the man before her.

"Fine, I'll let you go!" He gasped, knowing that he would risk everything just to hear her sing his music, his words.

"Yes?" Christine turned, acting as arrogant as she could manage.

"I'll let you go soon I swear. Just please, please sing for me."

"When can I leave?" She leaned against the wall of the castle rubbing her leg.

"Soon, the specifics can be worked out later." Minding her leg, he lead her along more slowly.

Eagerly, Erik rushed them to the secret entrance she had stumbled upon earlier. She followed as he raced up the stairs and out into a darkened hallway. He dragged her into his study, locking the door behind them.

During Christine's tour earlier, Meg had ignored this entire wing of the house. She now knew why: this place was entirely Erik's. It had a different quality to it than the other rooms in the castle. It looked lived-in and loved, with various instruments strewn all over the place and papers sticking out at odd angles from books and drawers. The centerpiece of the room was the magnificent pipe organ, as stately as any she'd seen in the famous cathedrals of the land.

Erik tore open his desk and rifled through the endless supply of music sheets, searching for the one piece. He had written the opera long ago, a flippant piece in the Italian style. But it had a brilliant aria, a young bride's lament for her lost lover that he knew would sound heavenly accompanied by the sweet tone of her voice.

He found it and thrust the words at Christine, pulling her to the organ. "Here, you can read can't you?" She nodded in the affirmative. "Good, the melody…" Once he started playing, time lost its meaning. Both were lost in a torrent of music that threatened to drown them.

)–/–

The only other inhabitants of the house looked up in surprised at the floor above them. Meg's eyes widened and knowingly, she nodded at her mother. Nadir retrieved his coat and the women's shawls, opening the kitchen door so they might leave the tutor and his student alone.

* * *

_Padme's Author Note: Thank you to all who reviewed, they make our day. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, it's the longest yet. I have good news and bad news though. So here's the good news first: Most of chapter six is already written, and just needs to be revised and re-worked. The bad news is that Jazzetry will not be available for editing until March 30th. Until then, I will be writing up a storm. So you can expect a couple of quick 1-2 updates at the end of the week. Oh yeah, the _)–/– _that you see should have an "at" sign in front of it to make a rose. Just in case anyone was wondering._

_And a chocolate Easter bunny goes to the people who figured out why Nadir calls Madame Giry Antoinette._


	7. 6: Betrayal

_Padme's Author Note: So, here's chapter six. Chapter seven is being revised today as well, so latest is tomorrow night. Otherwise expect it tomorrow. Thank you so much to the reviews, they make our writing better and inspire us. Hope you enjoy._

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Christine and the Phantom

Chapter Six: Betrayal

Erik grinned as he skillfully flit his fingers over the ivory keys. Christine stood by the piano, her finished script hanging limply in her hand as she closed her eyes to listen to the masterful execution of the composition. He knew that these past few days alone with her had turned his luck considerably, and now, every time she swayed unconsciously to his music or begged to stay a bit longer in the study, he permitted himself to hope.

True to her promise, Christine had met Erik every day that week, offering her voice up to him as a solemn sacrifice, and in return he coached her till the sound she emitted could make even angels fall on their knees. Erik felt like a child with a new toy, relishing every moment he had with her, but fearing to push her lest he break her voice or, worse, scare her away.

He blinked at that sobering thought, coming back to reality just as the song ended. Behind him, he heard Christine flounce onto a settee and sigh in exhaustion. He turned around, laughing to at his protégé's position. She had one arm draped across her forehead, letting the lace of her dress fall over half her face. The other hand fanned her flushed features dramatically.

Standing, he went to a sideboard where Madame Giry had placed a pitcher of hot water. Deftly, Erik steeped a mixture of herbs designed to naturally relax and soothe the throat. "Tea?" he civilly offered the maiden, interrupting her rest. She nodded to him and rearranged herself so there was room for him on the couch as well. Christine murmured her thanks to him as he sat and handed her the cup, his fingers grazing her own.

The couple conversed quietly while they drank their tea, and Erik took comfort in their budding friendship. They had been in constant company everyday, from the moment they eagerly met to begin practice to the late hours of the night when Erik felt compelled to send her away. When they were not singing, they spent time walking the estate or reading in the library. But what was he supposed to do now? Christine had come to see him as her teacher and even a friend, but how could he make her see him as a man, a lover?

"Erik? We haven't sung this yet, have we?" Christine had traded her empty cup for a thick manuscript that she found untouched on his desk.

He stifled the quick panic, grinning charmingly instead. "That's _Don Juan Triumphant_. It's not finished."

Erik rose suddenly as the girl flipped innocently through the book, but she remained oblivious to his alarm. "The first three acts are finished. Don't you want me to sing them for you?"

"I can't play it for you." His deep tone warned her not to press the issue.

"Can't or won't?" He grimaced at the childish taunt.

His mouth lifted into a dangerous smile. "I'll play it for you when I'm finished." Erik walked slowly over to her, taking the manuscript gently from her hands and replacing it on the desk. "Please," his voice murmured hypnotically in an attempt to distract her from the opera. He experimentally stroked her face, letting his hand travel down the ivory column of her neck. His eyes traced the motion of her throat as she swallowed nervously.

"Erik..." He did not know whether her moan was a plea for him to pause or proceed, but he couldn't resist touching her, even in this small way.

His hand traced the line of her neck to her shoulders, his fingers catching on a simple gold chain around her neck. He continued to drag his hand along her shoulder, revealing the necklace's buried treasure. He had expected the crucifix, but not the stunning engagement ring that accompanied it. The diamond twinkled brightly, mocking every hope Erik had entertained in the past week. Anger clouded the visible side of his face. He could only think of one reason for the ring's hidden presence: she loved someone else.

Christine's hand flew to her throat in an effort to get the jewelry back from his clutches. "Erik, please!" He made a fist around the ornament and gave a quick yank, breaking the link that fastened the necklace. "I can explain!" She grasped his arm as he turned to leave her.

"Explain what?" His cold eyes pierced her to the very core and he knew that the sheer intensity of his entire demeanor frightened her. "Tell me that you belong to another? Remember, Christine, we have an agreement – " He pulled her close to his face, his arm crushing her body to his form, "You belong to me!" He wanted to scare her, hurt her like she had hurt him. Only his furious eyes revealed the totality of the emotion hidden behind the mask. He released her suddenly and crossed the room, trying to distance himself from the deceiving girl. He stared out a window, but quickly turned away when the glass revealed the mocking reflection of the white mask, reminding him of his cursed existence.

"Why won't you listen to me?" She approached him, turning him towards her, but he would not meet her gaze. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her lift a hand to his face. "Erik, please..."

His hand captured her wrist before she could touch him. Finally he met her eyes and said with calculated hatred, "Today's lesson is over. Leave me!" Erik flung her hand away from him. When she didn't move, he yelled at her again. "Get out, you wretched whore!" She blinked at him and a pristine tear curved down her cheek. He refused to dwell on it.

"If that's what you want." Another tear fell, and she turned and left him, slamming the door audibly as she ran into the black-curtained corridor.

Erik ripped the mask from his face and stared at it a moment before flinging it as far away from him as he could. His body sagged against the wall and he felt himself slipping to the ground. He did not moan or cry – he simply held his head in his hands, trying to forget the feel of his scarred and deformed face.

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The sun's golden glow faded slowly as the moon overtook it, leaving the sky dark and cold. Christine watched the transition gravely, knowing that there was no going back. Erik hated her.

A knock at the door caused her to turn away from the window. "Go away," Christine said, her voice nearly breaking with emotion. She had thought Erik had changed when he became her considerate tutor, but in an instant he had turned, letting her glimpse the monster from her first night.

"Please open the door!" The thick barrier muffled Meg's voice, but Christine could still sense the distress permeating it. "I have dinner!" Meg cried desperately. Christine lay down on the bed and turned away from the door, refusing to answer. The blonde servant would not leave her alone, and Meg finally resorted to using her set of keys to unlock the heavy door.

"Go away." The words hurt coming out of Christine's throat.

Meg touched the girl's arm, the bed dipping as she sat next to her prone friend. "Christine, please talk to me, tell me what's wrong." Christine shrugged Meg's hold off, letting her tears seep into the pillow she clutched. Meg stroked her back and murmured soothing words into her friend's ear until Christine fell into a fitful sleep. Outside, the moon still hung high.

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The moon had settled halfway between its zenith and the horizon when Christine awoke to the sound of mournful music emanating from, of all places, her wardrobe. She clutched the bedcover tightly, shivering as the playing increased with fervor and intensity.

Christine rose from her bed, approaching the door to the closet tentatively. Her hand reached tremulously for the door handle and gently pulled it open. Pushing through the racks of gowns, she grasped a small lever in the darkness and tugged it, revealing an opening into one of the narrow passageways she knew riddled the castle.

Without a second thought, she followed the sound, even as its insistence changed. It no longer commanded attention, it begged for it. There was no her, no castle, no Erik – only the music that threatened to consume them all. Instinctively she knew that this was his masterpiece, his _Don Juan Triumphant_.

The passageway ended abruptly and Christine grasped for another lever to exit. Easily, she flung the door open and stepped into the large hall directly outside Erik's study. She had walked this route many times, refusing to question the thick black drapes that effectively concealed the walls.

It angered her, his fantastic illusions – the shrouded hallway, the magical music, Erik's white mask. Christine pulled violently on the heavy black curtains, letting them fall in a magnificent puddle.

Christine stared at herself, reflected hundreds of times in the treacherous truth of the once-hidden mirrors. Her image alarmed her. The falling curtains had created a slight breeze that caused the white chemise she wore to swirl about her frame. The gray pallor of her skin accentuated the dark circles under her eyes, giving her a specter-like quality.

She knew what those mirrors meant; Erik was hiding from himself. The mask was the key to this infuriating puzzle.

Angrily, Christine walked toward the open door of the study and entered prepared to confront him. The shadow of his form, barely illuminated by a lone candelabra, gave her pause. He was not attempting to lure her to this place, he was merely playing with all the agony and despair he possessed.

She wanted to be there beside him, easing his anguish, but she wanted to be there without that small scrap of leather separating him from her. She wanted to see him eye to eye, to be his equal, to know him like he knew her.

In a dreamlike trance, she came softly behind him and reached toward his oblivious form, finally removing the ghostly mask from his face.

Erik's hands faltered on the chords in surprise, ruining the transcendent beauty of the music with a moment of pure ugliness. He turned angrily to face the lovely Pandora who for once recognized the terror she had just unleashed.

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_Review, please!_

_Author's Note: Hopefully this is strong enough…I was reading _The Fountainhead_ while I started this, so a lot of the description and twisted, violent love going on are inspired by that. However, Padme caught me before I went overboard and smoothed the story out. -Jazzetry_


	8. 7: Hegira

_Padme's Author note: Warning, there is a graphic scene at the end of this chapter that's probably not suitable to readers under fifteen. Although it is not bad enough to warrant an M rating, it is a tad bit risque for a younger audience._

_Thanks to all the reviews we've received, they make our writing much better. I hope the wait was worth it. Here's chapter Seven._

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Christine and the Phantom

Chapter Seven: Hegira

Christine ran. She flew down the grand staircase, past the castle doors, and out the gates, not caring where she was headed as long as she escaped the horror behind her. It wasn't just the horrible deformity of his face that frightened her, it was the incredible mixture of disgust, hatred, and budding violence in his expression that caused her to seek immediate escape. She plunged into the woods blindly, praying that somehow she would find herself safe at home in the morning.

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Erik stared at where the viper had dropped his mask. He would never forget the fear that had graced her face, the scream of horror forever frozen on her lips. He didn't even look up when he heard the outer gate creak open and clang loudly shut.

Slowly, he picked up the mask and replaced the cool leather on his face. He looked out the window, spotting the frenzied form that had so easily stripped away his protection against the world. A thick fog was creeping in, enveloping Christine, and he knew that he would never see her again.

"Sir?" Madame Giry stood in the doorway dressed in a robe. Behind her, Erik saw the silhouette of Nadir, wrapped in his robe as well, a skewed nightcap on his head. "We heard the gate open. Meg's gone to check on Christine."

Erik smiled ruefully at his servants, "She's gone," he whispered to himself.

"She's gone!" Meg's voice heralded her arrival. "What have you done to her?" Madame Giry berated her daughter for the accusation.

"Your daughter's correct, Madame. I've scared the girl away. She managed to remove my mask and…" Erik choked on those last words. Christine would never return, never love the man behind the mask.

Nadir reprimanded him harshly, "Go after her, you fool! It's still early, she could not have gotten far." He gestured out the door wildly with his hand.

Erik laughed cruelly, "And do what, exactly? Drag her back here unwillingly? Yes, what a brilliant way to win her love."

"There are worse dangers in that forest than you, Erik." Meg whispered fearfully. As if on cue, a wolf howled nearby.

Madame Giry spoke again, hoping her argument would send Erik running after Christine. "The townspeople are scared of the forest, but not murderers or thieves. If one of them finds Christine, you will _never_ see her again." Her voice held a touch of finality that chilled Erik.

The color drained from his face as recognition dawned, "My God, you're right." He felt around in his coat pocket briefly, satisfied when his hand felt the object of his desire. Without another word, he fled the study and rushed to the stables.

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Christine had torn the soft soles of her silk slippers to shreds on the branches and rocks that littered the forest floor. Deep in the forest darkness, she tripped, falling on her still-healing leg. She clutched her aching limb and winced. The cause for her fall, a wooden flute, seemed so incongruous in the wilderness that she nearly laughed. Why, by God's good name, was there a flute in the middle of the forest? So many things hadn't made sense this past week, she just accepted it as it was.

Christine had not thought about where she was going during her flight from Castle Nuit; all she had known was the urge to flee from the man in front of her. Christine finally admitted the inevitable: she was lost. A fog had come upon the forest suddenly, veiling everything in a web of indistinguishable gray.

Nearby, a twig cracked. Christine, looking for some means of protection, stood and picked up the heavy instrument a few feet away. Grasping it in her hand, Christine straightened and cried out in false bravery, "Who's there?" Her fingers tightened their hold near the instrument's mouthpiece.

Another branch broke, but Christine did not have time to react before an arm encircled her neck, pulling her roughly against a man's body. His other hand took the flute and flung it a few feet away from them.

"My aren't you a pretty little thing." His breath smelt of whiskey and his voice made Christine's ears bleed.

Christine gasped for air, "What do you want?" She struggled against the stranger's wandering hand.

The man chuckled behind her, biting her bare shoulder with a sudden viciousness. He buried his head in her neck and breathed in deeply. Christine took advantage of the moment and thrust her elbow back as hard as she could.

Momentarily stunned, the man let go, and Christine ran, but he was too quick. She felt the breath go out of her as he tackled her, throwing her to the forest floor. The flute was a scant few inches awayཀ He roughly pulled her so she lay on her back and only then did she recognize her attacker's face. A greasy, unkempt man, Joseph Buquet was a notorious robber whose face was plastered on wanted ads throughout the village.

"Someone help me, pleaseཀ" She cried out madly.

"No one can hear you out here."

Christine squirmed as much as she could. She twisted and reached, her fingers barely managing to grasp the flute. Wildly, she swung it at Buquet's head, squarely hitting him on the side of his face. He roughly tore it from her grasp and tossed it behind them.

"You'll pay for that, bitchཀ" Blood dripped down from a cut on his cheek. He used one hand to pin her arms above her head and the other to rip her shift down its seams.

"Erik. . ." she whimpered, half hoping the manor lord would magically appear. Buquet straddled the girl, reaching for his belt. She closed her eyes, trying to block out the man above her.

And then his weight was gone. Sobbing in relief, Christine rolled to her side to sit-up and opened her eyes.

Buquet, his eyes bulging with broken blood vessels, hanged from the tree she had rested beneath only a moment before. Her eyes followed the line of the dead man's body to the familiar figure standing beside him, still clutching one end of the rope that had killed her assailant. His face was clouded with anger and revulsion, his gaze moving between the dead man and her torn chemise.

Instantly, Christine cowered, covering her face with her hands and weeping pitifully. He was still angry with herཀ He hated her for what she had done to him, and now he probably viewed her as some harlot.

She was surprised when she felt his gloved-hand touch her back. "Christine..." She leaned against him, needing the solid support he offered.

"Erik, take me home. Take me back to the castle." Gently, the man covered her with his cloak and carried her to where Beast stood patiently. The sun's rays finally began to break through the morning mist.

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_Review Please!_

_Jazzetry's Author's Note: So we've just submitted chapter 6, I'm revising chapter 7, and Padme's email keeps getting new reviews every five minutes. just want to tell you all that your response has been greatly appreciated and helpful. Thanks!_


	9. 8: Quintessence

Christine and the Phantom

Chapter Eight: Quintessence

Raoul's return to the village occurred a few days earlier than he had planned. However, he was not foolish enough to leave a beautiful girl like Christine alone for long.

At first sight of the village, Raoul was instantly comforted. Smoke curled lazily from the village chimneys and the villagers who recognized him waved enthusiastically at him. He relaxed in the carriage, closing his eyes and imagining the sweet scene waiting for him at Christine's cottage.

Doubtless Stephan would be playing his violin while his daughter prepared their luncheon in the kitchen. Thinking of Stephan caused Raoul to groan. He would have to part father and daughter. Although he hated to wrestle Christine away from the violinist, he knew she would adapt to the splendor of Paris.

The vehicle rolled to a stop and Raoul leaped from the carriage, telling the driver to unharness the horses and wait for him down the road. He made his way up the short path, fantasizing of Christine's sweet embrace. Unknowingly, he hummed a tune to the song in his heart.

A slight breeze rippled through the long grass, and nearby a bird called joyfully to its mate. The cottage's location was truly ideal; it stood just far away from town to retain dignity while avoiding complete isolation. Raoul had loved it as a child, and had fond memories of playing with Christine in these woods, alone and free from the world outside.

His long legs quickly carried him to the familiar entrance. Hoping to surprise Christine and her father, he opened the door without knocking. "Christine! I'm back!"

Chaos greeted his eyes. Broken furniture, scattered papers, rotting food – the cottage had been torn apart.

Placing the flowers down, he quickly searched the small building only to discover it was empty. Raoul sprinted back to his carriage, crying to the driver, "To the village!"

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Raoul burst through the doors of the bookshop, looking for its proprietor, a kindly man that knew Christine well. The shop was empty, save for two women, a blonde waiting patiently at the counter and a redhead rifling aimlessly through the shelves.

Grabbing the closer one, he interrogated the petite blonde, "Please, miss, do you know where Christine Daae or her father Stephan Daae is?"

"She cannot speak, Monsieur le Vicomte." Carlotta looked up from the shelves curiously.

Raoul turned to the woman, immediately unhanding the startled mute who rubbed her arms. "Then, do you know where Christine is?"

The woman shrugged. "Most believe she ran off with a lover. Her father was a normal show, though, until Monsieur D'Arque took him to the Maison des Lunes. They say he is on his deathbed now, sick with consumption or something like it." She waved her hand carelessly, but peered in interest at Raoul's concern.

"Why was he taken away to that madhouse?"

"He kept raving about a hideous monster that had captured Christine. Of course, that's ridiculous. Christine was such a strange girl, reading those fairy tales. She probably just ran off with some passing stranger while her father was playing for that manor lord." Her lips twitched with amusement.

Raoul clenched his fists and spoke in a dangerously low tone. "Christine would never leave me – not for anyone!" His voice cracked on the last note. Christine, love another? She didn't even know any other men as far as he knew.

"Believe what you want, Raoul. But the whole town knows it's true." With that Carlotta threw back her head and imperiously exited the store.

Raoul breathed deeply, relaxing the tension in his body. Dealing with Carlotta was always stressful. But at least she had given a place to begin his search – The Maison des Lunes.

Turning, his eyes caught the young blonde woman holding a book to her body. "Good day madam, sorry about earlier." She nodded at him, her large brown eyes wide in alarm.

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Meg clutched her cloak tighter around her frame. She hunched over the book in her arms, protecting it from the fast-changing elements. It was one of the few tomes that Erik did not have in his extensive library, and a volume that Christine had especially requested. Meg had flipped through Selene et Endymion in the store, but found it far too fantasy-based for her tastes.

But Erik insisted on catering to Christine's wishes, especially after her escape attempt. There had been a strange sort of change between the two since he had brought Christine home from the forest. It seemed he no longer desired the girl's love; he only wanted her happy and safe. Christine now spoke of him on her own, telling Meg how much she enjoyed his company.

A strong gust of wind blew Meg's hood off, returning the girl's mind to her present circumstance. The castle was close by, and Meg knew that she must confront Christine. Too much rode on Christine's fickle affections.

Once past the gates, the magic eased the tight confines of her throat so she could speak and Meg rushed inside, up to Christine's room. Catching her breath, she knocked on the door.

She heard Christine call out, "Come inཀ" and Meg boldly entered the chamber. Tossing Christine's fairy tale on the bed, she demanded, "Who's Raoul le Vicomte, and why did he say you were engaged to him?" Christine's face paled considerably.

Christine fiddled nervously with the bedspread as she explained herself. "Raoul was - is a childhood friend. He moved away to Paris when we were little. He returned recently and asked me to be his wife. I told him I needed to think about it, discuss things with my father, but the next day I came here..."

"But surely you'll tell him 'no', won't you?" Meg's voice broke as she spoke the last sentence. Her hopes of being able to talk to people outside the castle were vanishing before her eyes.

Christine nodded, "I've barely thought about him since I was here. Besides, I don't think we have enough in common to satisfy a marriage. He's practically a stranger now."

"What about Erik?" The words popped out before Meg could stop herself, and she slapped a hand over her mouth.

Christine laughed, more at herself than the impetuous girl before her. "What about Erik? I don't know him any better than I know Raoul. He's been unbelievably kind, but he also imprisoned my father. I just don't know what to believe anymore."

The mention of Christine's father jostled Meg's memory. "Your father! Oh my goodness. Christine! I'm so sorry, I forgot. I wanted to tell you right away, but – " The chit broke off her babbling.

"Tell me what? Is Papa alright?" Fear clouded her words.

Meg shook her head, "He's at the Maison des Lunes. He's dying."

Christine leaped into action, swinging her legs out of bed and shouting, "Help me get dressed, Meg. I must see my father."

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_Read and Review please!_

_Our Authors' Note: So we're sitting in front of Jazzetry's computer again, tearing each other to shreds over our takes on Christine/Erik's relationship. Padme's all for immediate tenderness and understanding, while Jazzetry insists that Erik should be off drinking himself to death in a dark corner of the castle. Unfortunately, we've come to no conclusion and just decided to postpone that until the next chapter…You're feedback is welcome, so please review and give us your opinion – tender Erik or drunk Erik?_

P.S. Jazzetry is excited about the entrance of Monsieur D'Arque, the role she will be playing in exactly three weeks…yayཀ Padme, however, is sweating in her track uniform and brooding in the corner about Jazzetry's slashing of the script.

P.P.S. We've already decided the Erik bit.


	10. 9: Goodbyes

_Jazzetry's Author Note: A brief suggestion…This next chapter would be ideal if translated into Spanish and performed as a modern-day novella. Imagine Christine as a beautiful Hispanic woman, pleading, "No, Raúl, no puedo casarte!" Just as he leans back to slap her across the face for insulting his honor. Perfecto._

Christine and the Phantom

Chapter Nine: Goodbyes

The fabric dipped and bowed, the black under layers disappearing into vague shadows. The darkness swirled and twisted around the puffs of fabric covering the silver mirrors, a black river of velvet drapery. The silhouettes of the shadows in the west wing had crept up on the girl, until she found herself immersed in their inky darkness, despite the bright sunshine in the rest of the house. Christine's black-cloaked figure faded into the gloomy coverings, leaving only her head visible, a floating specter haunting the halls of Castle Nuit.

She was hesitant to disturb Erik, but she couldn't let her father just die alone…

Approaching the looming door, she raised her hand and knocked rapidly. "What do you want?" Erik swung the door open so forcefully that Christine stepped back.

Erik was unlike she had ever seen him before. His customary black gloves, coat, and vest had been discarded, leaving him in a pair of black trousers and a loose white shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbow. In his left hand he held a half-empty glass of whiskey. He looked more human than the frightful phantom she had learned to accept.

His eyes softened as he looked at Christine, and, as an afterthought, he pulled the door closed just enough to cover the masked side of his face. Immediately, his blue orbs traveled down to the small suitcase tightly clutched in Christine's hand.

Worried about his reaction to her departure, Christine hurriedly said, "Erik, my father is dying – I must see him! I promise to return as soon as possible, but I need to be with him – "

He raised his hand, cutting off her speech. Erik spoke slowly, weighing each of his words carefully. "You have always been free to wander as you like."

"Then," Christine stumbled, "Why have you led me to believe I am your prisoner?" She had complained of being his captive, but now she realized that no locks kept her contained, no gate was closed to her. Those days before she knew Erik, before he began to play for her, there was plenty of time to escape the castle. She had chosen to remain.

Seeing an opportunity, Christine forged ahead, "So I may leave to see my father?"

He nodded, "Yes, even leave forever if you wish. I only want," Erik paused, and Christine worried he would not continue his thoughts. "I only want you to be happy." He paused a moment before reaching into his pocket, "This is yours." He took her free hand and placed the broken chain on her palm, complete with its ornaments.

Christine stood awkwardly outside Erik's bedroom with Raoul's engagement ring glittering in her hand. Not knowing how to make her exit, she leaned to politely peck Erik's cheek and muttered, "Goodbye, then."

As Christine rode away on Belle, she looked back at the window to Erik's study. He stood there watching her until she disappeared from view.

The Maison des Lunes was an ugly building. An institution for the insane, the designers had not thought superfluous ornamentation necessary, opting to leave the edifice a blank palate of gray stone. The small windows that dotted the structure were covered with thick iron bars, and rain had caused the bars to bleed delicate trails of rust over the past years. The insane and otherwise unwanted members of the area usually found their way into the clasp of the Maison and it's unscrupulous director.

Christine approached the building at a quick pace, fearing the worse for her father's health. He had been so ill the last time she had seen him, and if accounts of the Maison were true, the madhouse surely was not helping his condition.

Persistently, she knocked on the Maison's doors until Monsieur D'Arque himself answered.

"Yes? Can I help you?" The man was thin and gnarled, not nearly as terrifying as Christine had imagined. The only negative aspect she could perceive was an unsettling tendency to speak in a monotone, gravelly voice.

"I am here to see a patient," Christine mustered all the courage she could find to say, "A patient you have wrongly imprisoned."

D'Arque chuckled, "Really?"

She lifted her chin, insulted by his mockery. "Yes. Stephan Daae."

He grudgingly stepped aside and allowed her to enter, "Of course. This way, please." Christine entered the empty foyer as D'Arque locked the door behind her. She jumped at the finality of it bolting into place. Silently, the director led the way through the asylum, ever closer to her father.

The first room, a large hall rather, was filled with beds and patients. A common room, the victims were either chained to their beds or wandering aimlessly about. There were giggling children playing in the straw strewn across the floor, sad women knitting baby clothing, and old men spitting blood onto the ground next to their beds for want of some other place to deposit it. Angrily, Christine clutched her suitcase until her knuckles whitened under the pressure. No wonder her father was dying in a place like this! Filth filled the corners, and the windows, perpetually shut tight, admitted neither fresh air nor sunlight.

D'Arque spoke almost joyfully, "This is the pauper's quarters. We house nearly one hundred and forty patients here at a time, all charity cases."

"Paupers? Is he here? You mean none of my father's friends thought to give him at least a private room?"

D'Arque grumbled, "He was moved earlier today into a private room by a friend. The young man has been here all day."

Christine eyes widened at that admission. She knew who that young man was and what he wanted from her in return.

D'Arque left her at the door to her father's room, and she swallowed her apprehension before knocking softly and entering the room.

The room was spacious and moderately clean despite its sparse decoration. Her father lay barely conscious on the thin bed and Christine immediately kneeled by his side. Raoul, impeccably calm, stood when Christine entered the room.

"Christine..."He murmured, saying her name more as a prayer than a plea for attention.

"How is he?" She knew the answer, but couldn't resist the torture of hearing Raoul repeat the words echoing through her thoughts. Her eyes remained locked on her father's pale and drawn face.

"He's dying. I've tried to reach a doctor, but the only person I can find is some incompetent nurse."

"How did he get this way?" If Stephan died from being chained up in that dank dungeon, Christine would not know if she could ever look at Erik again.

"He was fine when he was committed, but a flu epidemic has stricken the asylum, including him. The damned place!" Frustrated, Raoul combed a hand through his hair impatiently.

She tried to get a response from her father, squeezing his hand and speaking soothingly in his ear. "Papa, I'm here. I'm alright."

She sat for nearly an hour without a word from Raoul or her father. When he died, Christine leaned over, clutching his clothing, and wept over his body. He passed quietly, without any recognition of his daughter, any touching last words, without even a last convulsion or tremor. His eyes simply stopped shining and his head lolled to face Christine, the hand she held going slack.

Raoul silently left the room to return only with the loathsome man that had led Christine through this hellhole of disease and death.

Monsieur D'Arque entered the room with two large guards, quickly ordering them about. "Remove the body."

"Wait!" Christine stood up quickly, laying a protective hand over her father's corpse. She may not have been able to protect him, but at least she could see he was properly put to rest. "He can't be buried here…"

D'Arque laughed, "Bury him where you wish, just as long as you can get him there and dig a six-foot deep hole to dump him in."

Raoul spoke up for the first time in hours. "I have a carriage. I will buy the coffin and take him to a proper resting place." Raoul looked over at Christine and she nodded in silent approval.

D'Arque bowed sarcastically and said to his men, "You heard Monsieur le Vicomte."

Raoul nodded, "Thank you gentlemen. My coach will be waiting downstairs." With that, he took Christine's elbow and led her out of the room, out of the Maison, and into the fading afternoon sun.

She spoke humbly as he walked to call his driver who rested within the carriage behind the offensive building. "Thank you Raoul. That was kind."

Grimly, Raoul said, "I don't need your thanks. Stephan was a good man."

Christine nodded at that. Together they drove the casket to the cottage. Raoul and his driver dug the grave under a large sycamore while Christine cleaned the house, left in shambles from D'Arque's no-doubt violent abduction of her father.

The sun slipped from the sky as the last shovel of dirt was removed from the grave. As she was organizing Stephan's sheets of music, Raoul entered, his coat and vest discarded, sleeves rolled, reminding her vaguely of the last time she had seen Erik.

"I've sent Jacques to fetch a priest."

"Thank you Raoul." She didn't dare look at him, feeling abominable for the eventual pain she would cause him.

Suddenly, he blurted out, "I need to know where you've been this past week."

Torn between a strange loyalty to Erik and the honest answer Raoul deserved, Christine compromised, "I've been staying with a friend."

"A friend?" he repeated incredulously.

Christine didn't understand quite what Raoul was suggesting, but she continued, "Yes. I'm also afraid that I can't marry you Raoul. I am very grateful for all you've done, and I will try to repay you somehow, but I can't marry you." She returned the ring, pressing it into the lax palm of his hand. "Please, don't ask why."

"Carlotta was right, then." Raoul spoke softly. Completely lost, Christine tried to ask what he meant, but Raoul interrupted her: "You've found someone better than a vicomte? He must be incredibly wealthy."

Startled, Christine gasped, "What?"

"My honor, undying love, and fortune wasn't enough? You'd rather become a…a whore?" He broke then, falling to his knees and laying his head in his hands, begging, "Say it's not true, say you don't have a lover."

Gently, she stroked his hair and said, "I don't have lover…"

"Thank God!"

"But I cannot marry you, Raoul."

He looked into her pity-filled eyes and quickly moved away from her, disgusted with her and with his overly emotional reaction. His eyes grew small and dark just as the carriage pulled up the driveway with the priest. "I'll have you Christine."

She shivered, but relaxed when she heard him get in the carriage and call the driver to move on. Slowly Christine went out to meet the priest who stood on her doorstep, looking slightly bewildered in the early night.

After the funeral, she locked the cottage and began the journey to Castle Nuit through a light rain. The people there were the closest thing she had to family now. She could not be alone this night – she had to be back with Erik as soon as possible.

_Review Please!_

_Padme's Author Note: So what'd you think about our soap opera? Well, not quite a novella, but close to it. As you can see we went with a compromise between the Eriks, he's drinking but not drunk, and he still cares for Christine here. _


	11. 10: A Revelation

_Jazzetry's Author's Note: Sorry it's taken so long to post this…Padme's been hacking her lungs out and I've been experiencing that delightful thing known as "Hell Week." It's the week before the show and we're rehearsing constantly…Hopefully that won't affect posting the ending too much. Have fun reading!_

* * *

Christine and the Phantom 

Chapter 10: A Revelation

The tolling of five chimes from the grandfather clock woke Erik from his sleep. The past day had been interminably long without Christine's presence in the castle, but the night had passed more quickly: Erik had fallen asleep while working on a piece of music at his desk. Some junk he knew he would burn for its incompetence.

Erik leaned back in his chair, stretching in the gray light of the early morning to release the tension that had built up during his short, troubled sleep. Breathing in deeply, Erik felt the muscles of his body expand and ripple, experiencing a moment of pure strength that contradicted his weak will. The sudden action caused blood to race to his head, and he steadied his hands on the desk as his sight blurred. When his vision cleared, he recognized the solemn creak of the outer gates opening, accompanied by the faint neigh of a horse.

Standing quickly, Erik drew back the curtain of the study window and peered down into the courtyard at the dismounted Christine leading Belle towards the stables. From the second floor her expression was unidentifiable, but Erik did not stop to wonder why or how she had found her way back to the castle. She had returned – that was all he needed to know.

Refusing to question his motives, Erik made his way to the secret passage that ran between the hall of mirrors and the east wing. He moved silently, pressing his hands against the stone walls to guide his way. It had been years since he had used this hallway, since he had any reason to slink to the guest chambers in secret. Even the small lever permitting him entrance into Christine's closet felt cold and unfamiliar, but Erik pressed ahead, yearning for just a moment alone with her.

Once inside the closet, he stealthily cracked open the door to her room, guiltily waiting for her return. He had not entered the Louis Phillip room since that first night when he tended to her wound. He especially knew the value of a person's privacy. Looking at it now, he realized that in two short weeks she had made the impersonal guestroom her own. She had rearranged the placement of the breakfast table so she could look out at the garden, and nearly every tabletop was filled with vases of fresh roses from his gardens. The guestroom looked warm, inviting, and lived in. In the midst of his quiet observation, Christine entered the room, lifting her heavy suitcases onto the bed so she could unpack them.

God, she was stunning. Even pale, no doubt due to her father's unexpected demise, she was gorgeous, a willowy figure that moved with graceful ease around her domain. As she reached for the buttons on the back of her gown, Erik softly closed the door and reentered the dark passageway.

He was satisfied. Christine had come home.

)--/--

He was a damned fool. Once sequestered in his room at the Duckling Valley Inn last night, Raoul had realized what an imbecile he had been. Christine had always been truthful, but he had chosen to believe the viperous Carlotta instead of his fiancée. Christine had merely doubted the sincerity of his unexpected intentions when she rejected his proposal – he could easily persuade her of the truth. She would accept his apology and reconsider his proposal. She would love him.

Raoul's steed galloped toward Christine's cottage, his rider barely noticing the muddy roads and clouded skies as he urged the horse faster.

But the cottage stood cold and empty. Raoul felt a revival of the bile that had plagued him last night. He could not ignore the evidence in front of him forever: she had gone back to her lover.

He smiled grimly when he caught sight of a horse's tracks in the mud, leading away from the house. Last night's rain had proved his ally, it seemed, giving him a clear trail towards the treacherous Christine. Fate was on his side.

)--/--

The grandfather clock tolled the ninth hour when Madame Giry entered Erik's room with a breakfast tray. He glanced at her from his writing desk with little emotion.

"Breakfast, milord." The charms-mistress set her burden down near him. "Miss Daae has returned."

Erik looked at the woman who raised him, merely nodding his head in acknowledgement.

His servant nodded. "It seems her father has died. Perhaps a requiem might ease her heart?" Madame Giry suggested.

"Perhaps." Erik looked towards the door pensively, imagining Christine weeping in her room with only Meg to comfort her. "When she is ready, ask her to come to me in my study."

Madame nodded curtly, letting the door click shut softly as she departed. After waiting a few moments, Erik stood and removed a large painting of a scene from Milton's Paradise Lost. Behind the canvas stood a narrow door leading into a stark chamber.

He himself had built this small room, the only addition to the castle since he had inherited it. The antechamber was a narrow, ugly room he rarely visited. Placed exactly in the middle of the hidden chamber was a small unadorned table of black mahogany. In the center of the table, a fading rose lay on top of a mirror, its full bloom reduced over the years to a mere three petals. Standing over the wilting flower, he stared down at his reflection in the mirror and slowly took off his mask. Twenty years later, he still hated the Enchantress and the curse she had bestowed upon him. He had found the woman he loved, but she would never be able to love him. Even now, it was too late. The rose, his timekeeper, was dying.

)--/--

Erik worked on a concerto piece after Madame Giry left, biding his time till Christine appeared. After a couple hours, he grew impatient with the notes and abandoned the music for a book. Making himself comfortable on the couch, he forced himself to become lost in the story. A knock interrupted his reading. Glancing around, Erik noticed that the sun had set, and the dinner hour had passed.

"You wanted to see me?" Christine stood fidgeting slightly in the gray wool gown she had changed into.

Erik nodded, saying gently. "I wanted to play for you." He sat down at the organ, his face turned away from Christine, focusing only on the metal pipes before him. His foot pressed softly on the pedals, allowing only a light sound to emit from the pipes. The melody floated about the room.

Behind him, he heard Christine gasp and choke down her sobs. He stopped playing and quickly gathered her in his arms. She clutched at him, repeatedly saying, "Papa!" Erik felt helpless in the wake of her grief, blaming himself for the man's death. He stroked her back as she cried, her tears staining the white fabric of his shirt.

"Christine, it's my fault he died," Erik grimaced as he murmured, "I'm sorry I caused you such pain."

Christine's sobs quieted as she lifted her red-rimmed eyes to look at Erik. "No! No, Erik, it's not your fault he died." She grasped for Erik's hand and held it tightly. "His _friends_ locked him up in an insane asylum – they just let him rot in there!"

Relief rushed through Erik, but a single thought nagged him from the back of his mind. "What do you plan to do?"

Hope and desperation filled her eyes as she pleaded, "Please, Erik, can I stay here? I promise I won't get in the way or bother you when you're composing…"

Gently, he lifted her chin and looked directly into her eyes. Erik whispered, "If anything, Christine, you make it easier for me to compose."

Unexpectedly, Christine leaned forward and kissed him softly in gratitude. Erik tensed; Christine seemed to realize the reality of the situation. Erik was neither her father nor Raoul – he was a completely different type of man. He had shown her cruelty, compassion, indifference, and friendship, but she had failed to recognize the male aspect of his being. He could never be the platonic tutor or the doting father figure – he could only be himself.

Erik flinched back from Christine, pulling his hands away from her. Confusion clouded the girl's eyes, but she respectfully remained where she was. Abruptly, he stood and paced in front of her, rubbing his chin in consternation.

Turning to her, he told her, "Christine, may I show you something?"

She regarded him curiously for a moment before acquiescing. She took his outstretched hand and followed him out the room.

)--/--

Raoul cursed as another branch whipped across his face. Wearily, he lifted a hand to the level of his eyes in an effort to keep the sharp projections from leaving their red marks across his flawless complexion. At first, following Christine's trail had been easy, but as time had progressed, it began to narrow and grass covered the hoof prints. Ahead of him, Raoul could see a clearing where the path seemed to fork off into two directions. He patted his roan steed, "Good boy."

Christine's trail lead down the darker path where Raoul made out the shadow of an imposing castle. He had found what he was looking for.

* * *

_Remember to review, please!_

_Padme's Author Note: Sorry about the wait, I got really sick and ended up taking a week off from school and this. Good news is, this chapter was originally twice the length it is now because it included most of the next chapter. The bad news is that Jazz will not have any time of her own to work on this until next week. So hang in, there. We're almost done._


	12. The End and the Epilogue

_Padme's author's note_: Sorry about the huge delay! You can blame it all on me. I was very sick, several times. I hope the long wait was worth it. I had a blast writing this.

1Christine and the Phantom

Chapter 11: The End and the Epilogue

Erik flung the narrow rooftop door open, inadvertently creating a tunnel of wind in the small stairwell. The dual assault of wind and chill caught Christine by surprise; reflexively she wrapped her arms around her waist. Outside, the near-black night beckoned to her seductively, but she hesitated in the doorway, wary of the dark.

Some steps away, Erik seemed to sense that she had stopped following. He turned the unmasked side of his face to see what stayed her, slightly raising an eyebrow when he could see no palpable impediment. He stretched out his arm, beckoning to her, and Christine timidly stepped forward, lightly accepting the offered limb. The cool of the night only enhanced the warmth of his hold and Christine reveled in the heat of the slight touch.

His grip tightened and suddenly he pulled Christine in front of him so that she stood close to the edge of the roof, overlooking the grounds of the castle as well as the faintest outline of her village. Twenty–no, nineteen–thin trails of smoke rose into the air and the yellow glow of firelight spilled from the windows. Closing her eyes, Christine tried to imagine the heady smell of wood smoke, bringing up instead a memory of her father playing the violin.

The pain was sharp as ever. However, the feeling slowly faded as she held Erik's hand. She missed her father terribly, but within that grief Christine was discovering a kernel of appreciation for the man beside her. For the first time since her father died, Christine felt hopeful about the future.

She turned her face to the sky and slowly opened her eyes. Sighing deeply, Christine allowed a small smile to grow as she stared at the large moon, full and complete, encompassing the sky.

A few feet behind her, Erik shifted uneasily. "Do you like it?"

Turning to him, she held his gaze as she said earnestly, "It's breathtaking, Erik."

The corner of his stern mouth lifted slightly, "I'm glad you approve."

She raised a delicately shaped eyebrow at him, "Are you mocking me, milord?" The wind blew against her; a violent chill coursed through her body. Instantly, Erik pulled her back from the sharp drop of the roof, wrapping his cloak around her thin frame.

Tilting up her chin with a long slender finger, he looked deep into her eyes before replying, "Mocking you? Never."

)–\–

Raoul cleared the woods, approaching the rusting gates slowly. Puzzled, he kicked the crumbling stone wall, wondering why Christine would keep a lover so obviously in need of funds. The mansion was grand, indeed, but ill-cared for. Never would one see a Chagny wall in need of repair or a garden overcome with weeds. Why would she want this?

He stealthily tethered his horse to a nearby tree and slipped silently through the massive gates. Raoul crouched in the darkness with one hand carefully guarding the gleaming pistol in his left coat pocket. It thrilled him, the feel of the cold barrel in his hands, and he stroked it possessively. He had never shot a man before, but he knew this experience would not phase him in the least.

Two distant figures on the flat rooftop caught his eye, and instantly he recognized Christine, her hair and skirts whipping in the night breeze. The tall cloaked man beside her reached his arm towards her, and Raoul trembled in anger. He clenched his fists as he saw the man take her in his arms and press her close to him.

Raoul's fury dulled into a chilling calm and, still in the shadows, he crept towards the castle with a grim look of determination. Instead of entering the house, he found the stones in the wall of the mansion and began to climb, gripping the narrow ledges tightly as he pulled himself up towards the stars.

)–/–

Christine sighed into Erik's chest, reveling in the solid warmth he emanated. She could imagine herself here, at Castle Nuit, for a long time. With her father dead and all ties severed with the outside world, she was finally beginning to realize the possibilities that awaited her here. She had found a sister in Meg, adoptive parents in Madame Giry and Nadir, and a man who loved her – a man she could love back.

She raised her head and whispered his name. He looked down at her, staring into her clouded eyes long enough to forget everything around him.

Only the introduction of a third party aroused Erik's senses. Raoul stood a mere ten feet away from the couple, moonlight glinting off the pistol he had trained on them. Theatrically, Raoul shouted, "Unhand her, you fiend!"

Erik's arms tightened protectively around Christine. "Fiend? I believe you are mistaken. I am not the one aiming a gun." Erik casually told Raoul.

The young man moved steadily toward the pair, "I find it tedious to repeat myself, but I must insist you remove yourself from Christine or I shall be forced to shoot both of you."

Instinct kicked in, and Erik pulled Christine behind him, whispering, "Christine, when I move forward, run back to the staircase and go to your room. Lock the doors and stay there till I come."

"But Erik…"

"Don't argue with me, just do it."

Raoul pulled his thumb across the hammer, the barrel clicking, as it rotated into place. "You should do as he says Christine. I don't want to hurt you – I love you."

Christine cast a last glance at Erik before retreating to the shadow of the door. The masked man was aware of Raoul's eyes watching Christine's every moment; stealthily he reached into his cloak.

"I'd stop what you were doing, monsieur. I could easily shoot you right now." His eyes swiveled back

Ignoring Raoul, Erik fingered the well-worn piece of catgut in his pocket. It brought a security to him that no gun ever had. He watched the boy closely for his chance.

"Raoul, please!" Christine cried. "He hasn't done anything to you."

He turned his head sharply, staring directly at her. "_Au contraire_, Christine. He has taken you from me."

Erik chose that moment to ensnare Raoul with the lasso. The rope tightened on the young man's throat. Like a well-trained killer, Erik read the panic growing in Raoul's eyes. The vicomte gasped for air, his free hand going to his neck in a futile effort to relieve the pinching of Punjab lasso.

Ina desperate attempt to free himself, the foolish man squeezed the trigger of the pistol he had leveled at his opponent.

Christine screamed; Erik jerked backwards, the bullet hitting him in the chest. The backfire from the gun snapped Raoul's head as the rope pulled his neck forward, the rapidness of motions breaking the young man's spine.

Christine ran forward, skinning her knees when she threw herself at Erik's side. She took him in her arms, resting his head in her lap. His mask had been knocked off when he fell; the shadows falling on his face deepened the wrinkles of the deformed side of his face. Death was claiming him, emphasizing the pocks and scars of his face, creating a grotesque death's head.

Christine frantically pressed a hand onto the wound in the middle of his chest. Blood flowed up between her fingers, coating them crimson. Erik choked on the liquid that was pooling in his lungs beneath her; a small trail of scarlet trickled down from the side of his mouth.

"Shh...don't try to talk; it'll be ok, you'll see" Her whispered words were choked with emotion.

Erik lifted a hand to her face tracing her cheekbone. Christine leaned her head into the touch, watching Erik blink. "Erik, I–"

His eyes suddenly stilled as his hand dropped away, a smear of blood scarred her alabaster cheek.

Christine crushed her body to his lifeless one and pressed her head into his deformed cheek.

"No, no, you can't leave me," she whispered, "I love you."

)–/–

In the darkness of the antechamber, the last petal on the enchanted rose fell.

)–/–

Unbeknownst to the weeping woman, a star twinkled brightly in the sky. The winking object detached itself from its spot and floated down, the emanating glow growing stronger with its descent. About a meter above the ground, the star spread out into the shape of a woman in a red dress with ice blonde hair, one green eye and one blue eye—both sans pupils. Two huge gossamer wings flitted behind her.

"My dear Christine, do you truly mean that?" Her melodious voice startled the girl.

She looked up; tears streaked down her face. "Who are you?"

The Enchantress smiled, ignoring the simpering woman's question. "But what of his face?"

Christine looked down, a sad smile flashed across her features; "It doesn't matter anymore. I was foolish to think it ever did. Now he's dead and I never had a chance to tell him…"

The Enchantress's smile widened and she floated down to the ground to kneel by Erik's side. She unclenched a balled fist over the prone corpse, releasing a glowing orb of light.

Protectively, Christine demanded, "What are you doing?"

The Enchantress pressed the luminescent orb into the gunshot wound, murmuring, "You'll see that death is sometimes fleeting." With those last words, her body exploded in a bright array of light.

Beneath Christine, Erik stirred.

"Christine?" His voice was hoarse.

Laughing, she hugged Erik to her body and pressed frantic kisses all over his face. "You're alive, Erik!"

"So I am, for the moment," Erik cautiously felt his chest for the bullet and wound. The only thing left was the torn and bloody clothing over the smooth, muscular contours of his chest. The moonlight caught in his blue gaze as he stared up at her. "Christine..."

She pressed a finger to his lips, "Let me say it first. I love you, Erik." And then she smiled her most dazzling smile at him.

Surprise swept over his features before another thought occurred to him. Abandoned next to her leg, lay his mask. "Christine, my face!"

)–/–

_Epilogue, several months later_

Erik wrapped an arm around Christine's waist, pulling her against him. He leaned his face into her hair, inhaling the rose scent that clung to her mahogany curls. Careful of both their masks, he moved down the side of her head nipping gently at her throat.

Her hand caressed the unmasked side of his face. "Erik..." Her voice came from deep within her throat, lending a husky quality to it. "Someone will see, this isn't proper."

"Well then, let them see." He continued to pay attention to her neck and jaw line. Her hand lazily stroked his clean-shaven cheek; Erik knew she could not bring herself to take her hand away.

From their vantage point in a corner behind a marble column, the Masquerade ball continued, the missing couple unnoticed.

The clock started to chime twelve times, signifying the New Year. Erik pulled away from Christine's neck to look into her eyes; "Do I get to see my bride's face now?"

"Only if I get to see the groom's."

"Agreed." Together, they removed each other's masks.

)--/--

Read and Review, please!

_Jazzetry's author's note:_ Well, this is it. I hope you've enjoyed reading this and thank you to all our wonderful reviewers! You've really made writing this a treat…

Continue to check out Padme's other fanfics, as well as my own work posted under the same name at Thanks again for your support.


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